Scheherazade
by Ione
Summary: Odin never gave up his grasp on Yggdrasil. He sends his children to bring Midgard into line with Asgardian rule. Captured and sentenced to death, Jane Foster spins out her life with a new story each night. One-sided Lokane, evil!Loki. Written for lokaneweek. MULTICHAPTER as of 2/11/20!
1. I

**Scheherazade**

A lokaneweek fic

Prompts: Fairy Tales, Soulmate Marks, Mythologies, Historical

 **I**

* * *

It was a cold, blustery March when Odin's three children descended from the sky, stepping off of prismatic rainbows onto the black, frosted ground of Earth.

Beautiful, invulnerable, and arrogant beyond words, they brought an ultimatum. Accept their father Odin as overlord of the planet and submit to his whim, provide him tribute, and stifle all objections, or be destroyed.

Leaders of Earth, reeling not only at the knowledge that Norse gods were real and apparently from space, but also from the expectation that they were meant to surrender all their authority and turn the entire population of Earth into serfs at a moment's notice, understandably declined to do this. Even those politicians who were on the fence still nodded in agreement behind those that rejected Odin's proposal.

What no one realized at the time was that Hela, Thor, and Loki were not human. They had no interest in haggling, in cutting a good deal, or in skimming away power for themselves. They were the war machines of their father, and when they delivered an ultimatum, they meant it.

The war that followed was swift, and it was devastating.

* * *

Dr. Jane Foster woke to another day of uncut boredom. Her cot was still hard, her cell still cold, her food still processed and stale, and her fellow prisoners still paralyzed by trauma. She was little better. As part of the team responsible for putting up such a fight at the final Battle of Manhattan—which loss finally broke the back of North American resistance—she had fully expected to be executed the moment her team was apprehended.

In her darker moments, she wasn't certain that she _hadn't_ been. This endless purgatory, day after day marinating in fear, seemed hellish enough to be real.

Like most of the survivors, she clung to routine to avoid sinking into a gibbering puddle of once-human goo. Breakfast, cup of coffee. Ten laps around the prison yard, one hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups. Recite the Morgan-Keenan stellar classification system withall its subdivisions. Forwards and backwards, because why not?

Exercise again. Lunch, cup of coffee.

It was after lunch that Jane's carefully-constructed system fell apart. After lunch was when _they_ came.

Asgard's shock troops were monstrous men, encased in armored carapaces of crimson and gold. Each one's forearm was wider almost than Jane's head, thick around with corded muscle like steel rope. They were acknowledged masters of the prison. When they told you to do something, you either did it or you killed yourself trying.

One person, once, had refused to do as he was ordered.

Jane would never forget the wet _thunk_ of his decapitated head against the tiles, nor the businesslike way the soldier had wiped his bloody hands on the dead man's shirt before letting it slump to the floor likewise.

Jane had always known it would just be a matter of time before they came for her. Over and over, she told herself that it didn't matter, that nothing mattered, that she might as well die now as later. Earth was over; what was there to live for? Nothing, that's what. With such mantras she lulled herself to sleep at night, anticipating death with something like sick fascination.

Yet that day, when they called her name, she realized how much life meant to her, and how much she would give for just one more breath of it.

* * *

"Dr. Foster,"

Jane's knees trembled so that the soldier who brought her had to hold her upright as she stood before the throne. Two minutes ago, she had been imagining an unceremonious beheading out in the yard, yet somehow, this was much worse.

"Have a seat."

A chair materialized impossibly out of some void, nudging at the back of her knees. Though she would have liked to remain defiantly upright—in her dreams she would have spat in his face—Jane collapsed into it with no more stiffness to her than a boiled noodle.

This was bad, this was bad, this was _bad._ Of course she knew Loki by sight—who in the world didn't?—but she had never expected to ever be face-to-face with him. Odin's youngest son was a sorcerer of terrifying powers, the depths of which no one had managed to plumb. Thor might summon lightning and Hela might animate the dead, but Loki could make physics stand on its head and reality do a jig.

More than anyone, he was responsible for Earth's subjugation.

And there he sat, turning over a file—her file—and reading aloud.

"Doctor Jane Foster, astrophysicist. Thirty-seven years old. PhDs in physics and astronomy from Stamford, post-doctoral fellowship at MIT. Consultant with NASA, Boeing, Raytheon, Stark Industries, and the United States Science Commission.

"Most important, though," he closed the folder and grinned like a death's-head, "the creator of arc reactor-based portal technology that _almost_ swayed the Battle of Manhattan in humanity's favor. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Jane, through a combination of focused breathing and pure denial, had managed to sit upright and still during this recital. Her eyes, however, could rise no higher than the tops of his boots.

"That was a compliment. You have my permission to express your thanks."

She should have swallowed her own tongue first. But her curiosity, long-dormant, poked its head out of the dirt like a spring seedling. She had to see where this was going, even as she knew it was her grisly end.

"Thank you."

"There. What a polite child you are," his legs uncrossed; he sat forward. His elegant hands rested on his knees as he studied her downcast face. "You should know that I have no intention of killing you right away. I have arranged for a few free hours this afternoon to satisfy my curiosity about you. _Then_ you will die. But you have my word it will not be painful."

For a dizzying moment, Jane felt herself dissolve into atoms. The world around her faded into darkness. Death was nothing. She could face it. She _would_ face it.

Her eyes snapped open and she lifted her head, fearless and bold. Loki's thin lips stretched into a smile as, for the first time, they looked each other full in the face.

"Well done," he nodded, "I must admit, I have been impressed by you mortals. Oh, most of you beg and plead at the instant of death, but every so often, one in a hundred shows true grit. I suspected you would too."

"Why?"

"Your work was impressive. It showed a creative, resilient mind. Such minds have no need to fear the end."

"How would you know?" Jane's courage rose with her curiosity, "You're all immortal, aren't you?"

"Compared to you mortals, we might as well be."

Not a definitive answer. Jane heaved a silent sigh; that sort of knowledge would have been invaluable, once. That these gods could bleed and die. Too bad the knowledge would die with her.

She shrugged, soughing off regret. There was no purpose to that feeling now. Feeling in general was bleeding away from her, leeched as though through an open wound. Now that her curiosity was slaked, it wanted no more and subsided along with every other sensation, physical or emotional.

"Tell me how you came to think of manipulating neutrons to tear space-time."

The question came to her from a great distance and through several layers of thick cotton. As though she were falling asleep, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, Jane's body was warm and heavy. That included her tongue, which felt like a bar of soft lead in her mouth.

"Dr. Foster?"

She shook her head.

He sighed, an elaborate bluster of disappointment. "You may sit there in silence if you wish. I will not force you to speak. But do not imagine that this show of resistance will sway me. Say what you will, if you will not answer my questions."

A twinge of anger was a taser bolt in her side. "How generous of you," she sneered.

He only shrugged, clearly intending to say no more.

They sat in silence that grew like unchecked cancer, eating away at Jane's hardened shell of shock. She checked her watch; even though the face had broken when Aesir soldiers had stormed her lab and taken her entire team prisoner, the hands had never stopped spinning. Two forty-eight. Normally at this time, she would have just finished exercising for the third time and would have been settling down to tell herself stories.

The habit began as another way to kill time, to keep herself from going absolutely batshit insane. She'd sit in the corner and close her eyes, remembering novels, movies, episodes from TV shows. She'd test her memory by reciting things word-for-word, or flex her creativity by inventing new scenarios for the characters. Or she'd rewrite the whole thing from the ground up, throwing out the established story altogether in favor of what her imagination could create.

Why not? He told her to say what she would, after all.

"Once upon a time," she cleared her throat, "there was a solar system. It was vast, full of planets, full of people." She could see each planet rising in her mind's eye, spinning like tops through a vast universe called into being by her words.

"At first, each planet and its people were individual and free. The closer planets, in the inner rings of the solar system, were wealthy and proud. They created an Alliance, to greater share their resources and centralize their power. After years, they sought to spread their government to the outer worlds in the solar system."

Through short, rhythmic sentences, Jane soothed herself. Her voice grew stronger. "There was a war. A long, devastating war. At its end, the Alliance had complete control of the solar system, and it punished all those who had fought against it. Those rebels retreated ever-deeper into space, living on the edges of society."

Now she needed a ship; she summoned it. The glow of its engine was a lone night-light in those deep reaches of space.

"One of these rebels wasn't able to let go of the war, even when it ended. He had neither power nor army, but he had the will to fight. He drew together others like him, and with the last of his money, he bought a ship. A Firefly. And he and his crew lived by picking the flesh off the Alliance."

Piece by piece, Jane told the story. A raid here, an escape there. Falling afoul of other bandits and taking on passengers to make ends meet. A mysterious man with mysterious cargo. A chase, suspicions, accusations, a fight. The cargo opened to reveal—

Breath stalled in her throat; she was parched, tongue dried and vocal chords rubbed raw. Licking her cracked lips, Jane swallowed and opened her eyes.

Light had faded from the room. She had talked through the afternoon and well into evening, ignorant of sunset as it lit up the sky, mindless of the night's early stars as they emerged from behind a curtain of twilight. Realization hit her like a punch in the throat. It was time.

Loki would kill her now.

It was of utmost importance that she not cry or beg. She would show him how a brave human died.

"Finish your story."

So wrapped up in telling herself the story of _Firefly_ , Jane had hardly remembered her audience. And Loki _was_ her audience. The tale, so familiar to her, was new and captivating to him. She read his fascination in the way he sat, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on her face.

"Finish the story," he demanded. She flinched.

"I'm thirsty," she whispered. At a flick of his fingers, a glass of water appeared on her knee.

She drank. Each time she drained the glass, it refilled, until at last she wiped her lips and set the cup aside.

"Now, continue."

She swallowed. Did she dare? "I'm tired."

His lips twisted, furious at her daring and at himself for allowing it. " _Now_."

"It—it's a long story. It'll take longer than I have to tell it. And I'm tired."

In an explosive burst of movement, Loki surged to his feet, one fist clenched. Jane, hands folded in her lap, looked up at him calmly and didn't flinch. Exhaustion was more responsible for that than bravery as, watching power arc in green lightning over his fingers, her insides liquefied in fear.

"Very well," after a moment that crackled with tension, Loki mastered his irritation and lowered his hand, "You will finish the story tomorrow night. Then you will die."

* * *

Back in her cell, Jane collapsed on her cot, heart pounding, palms sweating, and mind whirring with possibilities.

If one story had saved her life, there might be another one that could help her.

* * *

It took her ten nights to tell the story of _Firefly_ 's fourteen episodes, mostly because she couldn't figure out how to turn some of the plot points into coherent narratives. Quickly, she discovered that it didn't matter _what_ she told, so long as she told it well. However he spent his days, Loki seemed desperate for entertainment in his off-hours, and Jane did what she could to engage him with stories that always had a _little_ more to tell.

On that basis, she planted the seed of a _Star Trek_ arc, introducing the idea of an _Enterprise_ setting out to explore the frontiers beyond the Alliance's reach.

This Frankenstein creation gave her material for another eighteen evenings. Wracking her memory for episode details, she described a trial for humanity's worthiness, a lost ship trying to return home, a bloody occupation of one planet by aliens from another, a godlike race of beings outside of time...every night, Jane's imagination pushed back—by a single day—the date of her death.

She wasn't done. The more she told, the more she remembered. Movies provided her with plot: _Arrival, Contact, 2001, Cloverfield, Forbidden Planet_...from popcorn flicks to deep ruminations on humanity's push into the stars, she turned them all into fairy tales.

One day, about a month into her surreal existence as a one-woman Netflix to a god, she realized she didn't remember when he'd last threatened her life. Indeed, their sessions had undergone a sea-change, the extent of which it boggled her to realize. Gone was the harsh throne room; they now sat on facing sofas, with a carafe of water and a plate of cookies reserved just for her. Jane no longer faced threats when she stopped at her habitual cliffhangers. Now, Loki merely thanked her and segued into...into _conversation_. Personal conversation.

"My work is almost finished," he said, during one of their chats. Jane nearly choked on her bite of cookie, "My father has already recalled Hela. He will soon call me."

Jane chewed carefully and swallowed. Hope, an emotion she did her best to check, swelled like a helium balloon between her lungs. Her breath came short. "Oh. What will happen to Earth when you leave?"

"Thor has things well in hand here. He has taken a strange liking to this... _planet_ ," Loki drawled the word. "It suits him; your people are as rough and uncultured as he is. I am glad to be returning to Asgard. I suspect you will like it as well."

"What do you mean?"

"You are an astrophysicist. Surely you will enjoy traveling among the stars."

Her heart froze, a terrified rabbit watching a fox's approach. "You mean...you'll take me with you?"

"Of course," he leaned back, smiling. "You still have more stories to tell, do you not? And once those are finished, perhaps you will have yet more to give," his eyes flashed, even in low light. "I would be a fool to throw aside such an interesting woman as you, Jane."

She had an instant, no more, to decide how to react.

Taking up another cookie, Jane took a bite that crumbled in her mouth like ashes.

"When do we leave?"


	2. II

**II**

* * *

She couldn't sleep. That was nothing new.

At first, when she had been captured and thrown into a cell with all the others, given only a bare-boned cot with iron bars that cut into her ribs and shoulders as she tossed and turned, surrounded by the groans and muffled sobs of a dozen other prisoners like herself, doomed to execution, Jane had been lucky to close her raw, burning eyes for ten minutes every night. But the human animal adapts, no matter the horrible circumstances it finds itself in, and Jane was no different.

After a while, the sighs and nightmares of the other prisoners became a little bit comforting. She wasn't alone in her misery. None of them were.

Now she _was_ alone. Loki had culled her from the others, spared her from execution, but Jane couldn't say that what he had in mind for her wouldn't be infinitely worse. And to this, she hadn't yet adapted. She couldn't sleep.

The bed she huddled on now was soft, plush, enveloping her in comfort like a friend's warm hug. Still, she shuddered with cold, cold that bloomed inside her as though her blood were crystallizing into ice within her frigid heart. If she stood up, paced the room, her feet wouldn't touch bare tile or raw concrete. No. Funny, how quickly Jane had forgotten the feel of carpet. She even had her own bathroom, with an actual tub long enough to hold her submerged in hot water. No more shared showers to make her blush in shame, for herself and for all the others humiliated by the rough hands of their captors.

Jane was comfortable now. And it burned her with bitter flame.

She couldn't sleep.

Throwing off the heavy duvet and the fleece throw, Jane curled up into her raised knees, pressing her forehead to the jutting bones there. She'd gained back some of the weight she'd lost, but it wasn't enough to put more than a few millimeters of flesh back onto her starved frame. Loki fed her, _overfed_ her, and though he did it without comment Jane could feel his eyes lingering on her, weighing her, evaluating how she grew under his care.

It made her want to vomit. But she didn't stop taking what he gave. It felt so good, _so good_ , to eat as much as she could, to sleep as long as she wanted, to forget—even if only for an instant, spinning her stories—the fear that surrounded her and invaded her and paralyzed her. She had been afraid for so long that, like the feel of carpet and a friend's hug and a beer after work, she had forgotten how it felt to be otherwise.

Slowly, Jane forced her tight muscles to relax, leaning back until she was lying flat on the bed. Yes, she was afraid, she told herself, but she was friends with the fear. She could manage it. She'd been managing it for this long. Like grief, like chronic pain, she could take her terror by the hand and guide it along with her. If she stopped trying to push it away, it wouldn't be her enemy any longer.

Lying there, muscles relaxed and empty, Jane breathed into the silence. Breathed deep and slow. Meditation had never been her strong suit; she didn't try to push her thoughts away. Rather, she dwelt in them, the bad and the good, playing out every scenario she imagined, both good and bad.

The bad. She was going to Asgard. There was no escape from that, no way to free herself that she could see. Once she left Earth...

No. She had to let that go. Once she left Earth, she would never get home again.

Her body shook with spasms of silent sobs. Her lips twisted and brow furrowed until her head tensed with pain.

Let it go, Jane. Let it go.

She relaxed again, finding her freedom in dismissing the insistent little voice within her that screamed about the possibility of escape. There _was_ no chance. Let it go.

Okay. She was going to Asgard.

Why?

A nasty possibility drizzled into her brain. She was one of the many spoils of war, just another trophy taken by the victors. Taken to what end, though?

Then Jane realized that the bad—going to Asgard—wasn't the worst. The worst was to be taken to Asgard as Loki's—

But he hadn't. He _hadn't._ Loki could be many things—capricious, menacing, absolutely pants-shitting terrifying—but he wasn't...he hadn't...Jane didn't _think_...

It was a possibility. She didn't rate her attractiveness very highly, but she _was_ a woman, completely under his control. He came to see her every day, purely to listen to what she had to say. And he was a psychopathic, world-conquering megalomaniac. It _was_ a possibility. Hiding from it would do her no good.

But that was a hypothetical. She had to deal with what she knew. And what she knew was that she was valuable to Loki. He had done a lot to keep her compliant, to keep her stories coming, night after night. He had kept her healthy and, to what extent he would, had seen to her happiness. That was proof her value, surely?

And _if_ she was valuable, that gave her some leverage, didn't it?

Jane had never asked him for anything. Never begged for a favor, never implied that her cot wasn't enough, or that she hated showering with a dozen eyes on her back, or that she walked the edge of hunger every day. He had known all that; why should she say it?

But now...now. If she asked for something, would he give it to her?

Her heart whispered that he would. Because she was important to him.

Her stomach revolted at the thought of pleading with him for a favor. But what would she gain from maintaining her pitiful pride? Nothing.

And if she sacrificed it, what would she gain?

Jane's eyes opened, staring unfocused at the vaulted, shadowy ceiling.

What did she want to gain?

* * *

Gingersnaps. He'd brought iced gingersnaps. They reminded her of Christmas. Of Girl Scout meetings in elementary school. Of after-school snacks. The taste of them was so familiar on her tongue, the gritty texture crunching between her teeth exactly the way she remembered.

She ate two. He watched her eat, sprawled lazily on the sofa opposite her, eyes heavy and indulgent.

She swallowed. "It's been a week, and you still haven't answered my question."

"What question is that?"

"When do we leave?"

"You're very eager," his smile widened, an uncommon tell in a man so practiced at lying.

She ought to have played along, even sarcastically. He enjoyed her sarcasm, the way you might enjoy a kitten catching your hand with its tiny claws at play. "I'm not," her voice was harsh and flat, "You know I'm not. I just want to know. I hate being in the dark like this."

"'In the dark'," he mulled her words over, tasting them, "Yes, very poetic. You search the vast darkness for illumination; of course you hate ignorance. Very well. By next week, my sister will have completely eliminated resistance in China, and then our work will be done. Thor will assume control of the planet, and we will be free to go."

Her head reeled. "Next week," she repeated, "Oh."

"Hmm. She ought to have finished sooner, but Hela enjoys the fear she brings rather more than the victory," at Jane's puzzled look, he translated, "She plays with her food."

"Plays with people's lives, you mean," she snapped, hand shaking as she lifted her cup of tea. The world spinning down to its final days, and she was sitting there, drinking tea and eating cookies. For a moment, all her best-laid plans flew out of her mind. She saw herself leaping over the table between them, smashing at him with her little fists. Her fingers would break against his iron skin, of course, but she might— _might—_ just irritate him enough to put an end to her.

 _That_ at least would be an honorable death. More honorable than what she was about to do, anyway.

Loki shrugged, her irritation not irking him at all. "Hela's pleasures are her own to indulge. Perhaps you would find them more palatable than Thor's."

"If she tortures her victims, I don't want to know what _he_ does to them," she muttered.

"Thor is a man who demands adoration from all. Especially those he conquers. He would have torn your head from your shoulders for the disrespect you just showed me," at Jane's shudder, he grinned, "Be glad I find it charming."

Her stomach twisted again. She swallowed.

"I am glad," she said, and it was the truth. He would have spotted her lie in an instant. "You've been...kind to me."

Her compliment, frail as it was, hit him like a blow. His smile shattered. "Don't put too much faith in that, Jane. My kindness," he spat the word, "is for my own benefit. Not yours."

"Fine," her breath came quick and shallow. Despite her mistake she pressed on. "For yourself then. _I_ still get the benefit."

He laughed. "I never thought you mercenary! But you should aim for more from my largess than a warm bed in a quiet room. You could learn something from Thor's favored mortals."

"No, thanks. If we're leaving Earth, what do I need to take from it? But I _will_ ask for a favor."

"Ask, then."

"We're leaving Earth," her fingers knotted tight, pale skin twisting painfully against her knuckles, "and I know that I'll never see it again."

He didn't contradict her. His head tilted. "You continue to impress me, Jane. You never begged, or cried...I thought your reserve the result of self-delusion."

She shook her head. "Self-delusion only works when you still believe the worst isn't possible. I know it is. I don't lie to myself."

"Of course you do. We all do. If we didn't, life would be insupportable. But if we stop to argue this point, my curiosity will go unsatisfied. What it is you want from me?"

"I want to say goodbye to some people before I go," she said, trying to keep desperation from her voice, trying not to let him see that his refusal would snap her in two, "And I want your guarantee that, after I'm gone, that they'll be okay. That they'll be protected."

His face was a mask without crack or flaw. "Which people?"

"Erik Selvig—"

"Selvig is dead," he cut her off, "He was part of your research team. When he was captured, he was executed as you should have been."

She didn't flinch even though his words stabbed her. "Fine. Darcy Lewis."

"Who is Darcy Lewis?"

"She was my intern when I was working in New Mexico on independent grants. She's not a scientist—she never really understood my research—but she was a good friend. Before—before," _you assholes blew up the world_ , she doesn't say, "She was living in London with her boyfriend."

"Darcy Lewis," Loki said, "Who else?"

"I don't suppose I could see anyone from SHIELD?"

"Those that aren't dead will be once I find them," his tone had no lightness, no give.

Jane's throat was dry. "No," she whispered, "Just Darcy."

He hadn't agreed yet. He was just sitting there, staring at her. Blank. And suddenly, Jane realized; her control, her restraint...it wasn't what he wanted. She was projecting an illusion of strength and it wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want a strong woman, no matter what he might say. Her strength didn't flatter him. No.

He wanted her cowed, and weak, and begging. He wanted her to unravel.

So, fingers trembling, she leaned across the table and put her cold hands on his knee, touch tentative and pleading. She let her tears glisten in her eyes, so they would catch the light, so he would see. And at last, she let fear shake her voice like wind rattling dry bones as she said:

"Please, Loki. I just want to say goodbye. Please...let me say goodbye."

He didn't reply. But neither did he move away. And when the tears spilled down her cheeks, he leaned forward and caught one on the tip of his finger, smoothing his hand over her cheek.

* * *

Hi everyone! So, earlier in January, I got an itch to write some more Lokane, but didn't have a ready idea. So I put a poll on Tumblr to ask you guys what you wanted. Actually, this story tied with _Trickster_ for a continuation, but since I know where I want this story to go more than that one, I decided to continue this. Now, having broken more promises than I wanted to in updating my other Lokane stories, I'm not going to make any more, but I am _hoping_ for two or three chapters a month.

As always, your feedback is the thing most likely to keep me near the computer, so please let me know what you think and what you'd like to see from this story!


	3. III

**III**

* * *

The moment Jane saw Darcy standing in the wrecked ruins of a five-star hotel lobby—the hotel Loki had made his official headquarters after the Battle of Manhattan—she felt, with an overwhelming sense of self-loathing shame, just how deeply she'd fucked up.

Darcy was terrified.

Darcy, brave Darcy, who could shrug off any new situation and navigate both the strange and the awkward with nonchalant grace, was standing on knees that trembled in her baggy jeans, hugging herself with fingers that dug into the puffs of her torn jacket sleeves as if she could hold herself together by sheer force of will. Worst, there were tears in her eyes, tears that threatened to fall by the bucket. Jane had never seen Darcy cry; it was as unthinking as watching a waterfall flow uphill, a perversion of some great natural order.

Jane wanted to fall to her knees and beg Loki—the same Loki who looked on the two of them with a smug, indulgent smile at his own benevolence—to take back his gift, to undo Jane's selfishness with a flick of his wrist. Could he reorder time? Fix her mistakes? Make her brave enough not to be _desperately_ glad to see her friend, even if it was agony to her?

Perhaps he could. The extent of his powers was a mystery to her. But he wouldn't. And Jane couldn't draw back now.

Darcy had seen her.

"Jane?" her voice emerged as a ghost of itself, a croak of horrified disbelief. "Jane? You're alive?" Her tears dropped, heavy as a sheet of summer rain. "I thought—I heard…"

"I know," Jane's voice was as strained as Darcy's; she squeezed out the words, "I know. But I'm not."

Darcy's foot shuffled forward a half-step, then halted. Her blurred eyes flitted to the enormous guards on either side of her. It was clear that she had been told not to move an inch, and the fear in Darcy's face told Jane it was clear she'd also been threatened with painful death if she did. Darcy shuddered, eyes closing and head falling forward. Her tears watered the pitted tile floor.

This was unbearable. Jane turned to Loki, tears of her own gleaming bright in her eyes. "Can we…is there somewhere we can talk alone?"

"Somewhere you can hatch your schemes?" he sneered, annoyed that his generosity was being questioned, even so mildly. "You must think me a fool."

"No," she blinked, honestly shocked that he thought escape was within the scope of _her_ power, "What could we do? But she's not going to be comfortable until your goons leave her alone. And neither will I. Let me take her to my room."

Loki slid closer to her, grasping her upper arm in a grip that punched all the air from Jane's lungs. There was an implicit threat in his touch; her bone felt brittle as a dry straw in his hand. A chill shuddered through her, which saved her. He felt her fear, and as it always did, it soothed him.

Lowering his lips to her ear, he murmured, "Take care, Jane. One day, you will go to far. I have allowed you this much. Do not make me regret what I have already given."

It took her a moment to gather enough breath to whisper, "I won't. I promise," _breathe, breathe_ , "Please."

He drew back, but his fingers were still tight on her skin, digging into her tender, peach-soft flesh. "Very well. Take them to her room," he ordered the guards, "Wait outside; do not enter unless I order it."

The Aesir drew their swords, nudging at Darcy's back to prod her forward. She yelped, tottering on her toes, only restraining herself from a flat-out run because Jane stepped forward to catch her. Loki did not let her go. For an instant, she was caught between the two of them…torn between her longing for the past and her implacable future.

Then Loki relinquished her. "Enjoy your chat, ladies," he drawled, sweeping them a courtly bow. The mockery in his tone was a slap that raked both of them across the face, leaving them flushed with humiliation. Laughing, he rose and swept out and away, vanishing in a fall of spitting green sparks that crackled across the floor.

Darcy leaned heavily on Jane as they climbed the hotel's echoing service stairs—the elevator only functioned on Loki's magic, as electricity was a distant dream for Manhattan now—her breath still hiccupping over sobs. The guards' footsteps were thunder and lightning, chasing them with all the threat of a storm. By the time they reached the tenth floor, Jane was almost as scared as Darcy, despite knowing they would not kill her. How was it possible to be more frightened in Loki's _absence_?

That way lay madness, or at the very least some tangled webs to wrest herself free from. She couldn't think of it then, not when Darcy's breath kept coming lighter and faster and Jane was a little worried her friend was one more shock away from fainting.

She had hoped Darcy would somehow remind her of the past, take her back to a time when they were invulnerable, bold, hanging onto the edge of scientific credibility by their sharp fingernails, clawing for everything they had. She wanted some of Darcy's scrappy spirit, the one that would shrug and buy a box of cheap wine whenever their requests for grant money were denied. The one that would wake her up the next morning with an expensive cappuccino to chase away the hangover, and get her back to her computer to try again.

To her, through the years that separated them, Darcy had remained that indomitable person. She had forgotten that the war had ruined them all.

"Almost there," she whispered, bearing up under Darcy's shaky weight, "Almost there."

Darcy was beyond replying. Her face was chalky pale and sweat popped out on her forehead, clammy and sour.

They staggered down the hallway; Jane pushed open her door and they tumbled inside. The instant the door latched shut, Darcy's legs gave way entirely and she slumped down against the wall, burying her face in her knees. Her shoulders heaved but she didn't cry, didn't even whimper. An animal hiding in its bolt-hole knew better than to make a sound, no matter how much pain it was in, lest a predator should find it.

Jane propped herself against the opposite wall, sweat of her own trickling into the collar of her shirt. Again, she cursed herself. What an idiot she had been! What a stupid, selfish, _evil_ idiot! To put her friend through this nightmare, and for what? To tarnish Darcy's good memories of her with this freakshow?

She couldn't change her bad decision, but she could do her best to repair her mistake.

Her mini-fridge wasn't cold, but it did hold a variety of bottled waters and canned sodas. Chocolate and nuts too, come to think of it, but somehow Jane didn't think salted cashews were good for shock. She got Darcy a drink and uncapped the bottle, pressing it against her friend's clenched hands.

"Drink something," she said, "You'll feel better."

Darcy's face lifted, but her hands were still locked too tight, as if letting go would throw her into chaos. Jane tipped the bottle into Darcy's mouth, and gave her tiny sip after tiny sip. Some of the water dripped over Darcy's chin and spotted down her ratty jacket. Most of it she swallowed.

"How are you alive?" she whispered, voice raw and wet. "Everyone knew you were heading the defense of Manhattan. When it fell, everyone said you must be dead."

"I was just about," Jane replied, reliving in a dizzy instant her days of limbo, hanging between life and death. "Loki…" _saved me_ are the first words that occurred to her, but she'd rather bite her tongue in two than say them, "spared me. I don't know why. I told him stories."

 _That_ shocked Darcy. Her head jerked up as her hands fell limp in shock. "Stories?"

"I," a chuckle bubbled out of her before she could stop it. Once it was free, it grew and frothed until she could barely get words out around its amorphous shape in her throat, "I told him the plot of _Firefly_. And the good bits of _Star Trek._ And _Cloverfield_."

Darcy blinked as Jane clasped her stomach and doubled over. "You _hated_ that movie."

"I know!" Jane squealed, clapping her hands over her mouth, "But it was all I could think of. And he would've killed me if I hadn't told him something."

"So…" her brain was working slowly, but Jane's story admittedly took a longer than a hot second to accept, "You told him stories, and he didn't kill you? And…what…he's _keeping_ you here?" For the first time, she seemed to actually absorb her surroundings, looking at Jane's bed, heaped high with pillows, and the bottle of Fiji water in her hand. A wary hint of disgust crinkled her eyes, but Jane was certain it wasn't meant for her, "For what?"

"Not that," Jane rushed to assure her. In short, halting sentences, she explained—as she understood it, anyway—what her role was. The idea that a warmongering Norse-esque god would need someone completely unthreatening to _talk things over with_ was a thought that didn't quite fit into Darcy's brain, but she accepted it, mostly because she didn't want to argue for anything else.

"And now he's gonna take you to Asgard?" the tears were back, "For how long?"

Jane's eyes burned hot. "Darcy…the only reason I asked him to bring you here—the only reason I put you through all this—is because I'm not coming back. He's never letting me go."

She didn't want to cry, but she had no say in the matter. Admitting it to herself was one thing, saying it to Loki was another, but saying goodbye to the one person who might miss her as something more than a scientific resource was a different kind of agony. Darcy was her last connection to planet Earth, and dearer to her than it all.

Something in Jane's tears dragged out some of Darcy's old protective, nurturing spirit. She planted her hands—pale and worn to the bone—on Jane's shoulders and locked her in a fierce gaze.

"So how are we getting out of here?"

"Darcy," Jane wished, _wished_ she had some genius plan, or that she had even tried to _think_ of a genius plan out of this steel-mesh net. Darcy expected it, Darcy _believed_ that Jane's mind was still as resilient as it had always been. Darcy wasn't the only one holding onto a past that no longer existed. But Jane knew she wasn't the woman she had been. Not even close. "There's no way out of this. Not for me."

"But—"

She shook her head.

"No. I promise. I just," she sniffled, "I'm sorry. I just wanted to say goodbye. Really. So," she swallowed, swallowed, swallowed again, trying to shove down everything that wanted to vomit out of her in an uncontrollable wave of hideous emotion, "You were—I'll miss—" impossible to say anything coherent without breaking down immediately, "Goodbye."

Her word landed like a stone on a glass pane. They both shattered, neither one able to support the other, hurting each other even as they hugged, cut and bleeding on each other's raw, broken edges.

* * *

They were allowed one hour. One hour for Jane to attempt to untie herself from everything she had ever known and loved, and throw herself—or allow herself to fall—into an uncertain future where one whim or one bad mood would see her dead and gone from the universe forever. Jane knew she didn't have time to do things bloodlessly. She tore herself free instead.

She dragged Darcy through a tour of their greatest hits, remembering that greenhouse of a lab they'd inhabited, taking the carved-out carcass of that retro-futuristic diner in New Mexico and turning it into a home for Jane's brightest hopes. They remembered coffee at Izzy's, omelets at Mike's, beers and shots—and more shots, and still more—at The Barfly.

It was the world's most depressing high-school reunion—even more depressing than an average one, anyway—but it brought Jane some measure of comfort. The memories were still fresh, still touched with a warm rosy glow of love.

By the end of the hour, Jane had finally stopped crying. Darcy still oozed like a loose faucet.

"I can't accept this," she said, sniffling, "He can't _do_ this to you. He can't take you away."

"He's taken the world away," Jane shrugged, "He could've killed me. He can do whatever he wants to me."

Darcy's face hardened into a fierce grimace, baring her teeth between shaky lips. "Don't let him, Jane. If he tries, _don't_ let him. You have to promise me that, okay? You have to fight him. You _have to._ "

"You're the best, Darcy," Jane murmured, drawing her friend's tense body into her arms, "Still trying to protect me, aren't you?"

"Somebody has to," she grumbled, "You were such a lunatic, and your self-preservation meter was always set to zero. You still are."

"I am?"

"You saved your own life by telling yourself a bedtime story when you thought you were gonna die. Yeah, you're absolutely banana-balls. But it works for you. Somehow."

Absurdly, Jane's laughter returned. Darcy was right; it ought to have been an absurd way to die. But she was still alive. Somehow, she was still alive. And Darcy wanted her to stay that way. Jane's life mattered to her. So she would make it matter to herself as well.

"Thank you," she said, drawing back, smiling into her friend's blotchy, tear-streaked face. "I'm so sorry I put you through all this. But thank you."

Darcy shrugged. "Honestly, I can't say I'm glad, because I think they scared ten years out of me, but…it was good to see you again. I'll," she pursed her lips so tightly that her mouth almost disappeared, "I'll miss you."

"You too."

A knock shook Jane's door on its hinges.

"Out, _now_."

It wasn't Loki's voice, but it came with the force of Loki's order behind it. Jane leaped to her feet, dragging Darcy upright by her wrists. Both of them paled again, and Darcy's shakes returned, having only just faded.

"I made him promise me that you'd be all right," Jane whispered as they approached the door, "You'll be okay. I swear."

Darcy huffed a breathless laugh. "I trust you. But I don't trust _him_. I never will."

Jane wouldn't—couldn't—argue with her. Together, arms linked, huddling against each other for the illusion of safety, they descended to the lobby again.

Loki was waiting, a smile of faux solicitousness oily on his face. "Miss Lewis," he said, extending one hand. Darcy, looking as though she'd rather cut hers off rather than give it to him, nevertheless let it lie limp in his palm. "I do hope you have enjoyed your visit. My Jane was missing you terribly."

"Yeah," Loki's smile twitched; Darcy cleared her throat and tried again, "Yes. Thank you. Can I go home now?"

Loki tsked, shaking his head, fixing Jane with a sorrowful frown. "Poor Jane. Such ungrateful friends you have! And to think you pleaded so prettily with me to let her come."

Jane should have known she'd pay for her favor sooner or later. She should have remembered that Loki liked to play.

She had an instant to decide how best to placate him. Fire up, roll over, break down?

She bowed her head, a little child at prayer. "Thank you for bringing her. It was all I wanted."

His frown poked a hole in her stomach; Jane felt like her watery guts were flowing out that hole in a whistling stream, and that she was caving into herself, collapsing. Then he shrugged. Her meek manner gave him nothing to prod at or rip away.

"Take her back," he ordered the soldiers standing ready, "Give her whatever she asks for. Harm no one on your way unless you are threatened."

Jane's spirits revived. They were almost out of this, almost away! Perhaps she wouldn't have done _too_ much damage; perhaps, after a time, Darcy would even forgive her.

But unfortunately, as with other things she had forgotten that day, she had also forgotten that 'almost' was a horrifying word.

Darcy had no sooner taken a step forward—dropping Jane's hand as she did so—when the hotel's doors blew open, glass shattering as they smashed against the wall. A fetid wave of sepulchral air swept them, cold and rotted as a gust from an opened tomb. Out of this ghastly vapor materialized a woman, her shape made from coalescing shadows and sickly green brimstone.

One glance at her cold, cruel face, made of sharply elegant features, was enough for anyone to recognize Odin's oldest child, the necromancer, self-styled Goddess of Death.

Hela.

* * *

Thank you for all your lovely reviews! I have been replying to the reviews of those of you with an account, but to the rest, I just wanna say thanks so much for your support. I'm currently in the throes of interviewing season (again!) so your positive feedback makes up for all the dead-end applications I've been filling out recently. Thanks so much for reading and I hope that this cliffhanger isn't too painful.

Actually, I'm lying. I enjoy your pain!


	4. IV

**IV**

* * *

Hela walked with bruising grace, her strides long and her steps loud. Her heels scraped the lobby floor, digging gashes into the tile. For a dizzying moment, Jane thought she saw blood oozing from the wounds she carved, leaking through the earth as though her presence actually hurt it. But it wasn't blood. Hela just trailed shadows of noxious miasma, haloing her in a distorting aura of poison, in which her arrogant face was the only sure point to fix on. But meeting Hela's eyes was the last thing anyone wanted to do.

Darcy shrank back against Jane, who in turn inched closer to Loki. The devil she knew was, in this case, far less terrifying than the one she didn't.

A vicious white smile spread across the Goddess' face.

"Dear baby brother," she crooned, throwing her arms wide, inviting him into an embrace which Jane felt would surely rot the skin on his bones. "It has been too long! Praise to our father it will not be for much longer! Are you as weary of this world as I am?"

Loki smoothly sidestepped her hug, incidentally putting his body between Hela and Jane. "Indeed. But as you say, we are soon to be away from it all. Though I hear you are not to leave this world without…souvenirs?"

"Hmm. The people might be dull as the dirt they crawl about in, but there are those with their own rough charm," despite Loki standing between them, neither Jane nor Darcy had gone unnoticed. Hela's bright green eyes pierced straight through Jane's skin and lanced Darcy like a butterfly on a wheel. "Charm _you_ are discovering, I see! And you turned up your nose so often at the pleasures Thor and I offered to share with you!"

She strode forward, uncaring if Loki stood out of her way. Even Jane was nothing to her; Hela's shove on her shoulder was probably nothing worth the name, but Jane went sprawling to the floor, skin burning beneath her clothes with the corrosive poison of Hela's touch. Alone, unprotected, Darcy stood trembling, wide eyes fixed on Jane's frozen face in a silent scream for help.

Hela's gloved fingers cupped Darcy's chin, raising her face up for inspection. Darcy whimpered as her flesh revolted from the touch, a startled tear dripping down into the seam of her lips.

"She's lovely," Hela twisted Darcy's face this way and that, examining her like a prized horse, "a little thin, perhaps, but who can tell under the horrible clothes they wear? Why keep her in rags like this?"

"Why do I do anything?" Behind Hela's back, Loki extended a hand to Jane and helped her off the floor, "It amuses me to do so. What could I dress her in to rival what she will wear on Asgard?"

Stunned as she was, Jane still opened her mouth, though she had no idea what she would say. But Loki's gaze was a lock on her tongue; it told her of their—and it was _their_ —danger here. Family they might be, but there was an unhinged lunacy to Hela that would not spare Loki if she were crossed. And without Loki to save them…

 _The devil you know, Jane_ , she told herself, and closed her mouth so tightly she thought her teeth would shatter.

"Oh," Hela's groan was obscene, her smile wicked, "Thor will be thrilled to hear it! We had a bet, the two of us. I thought you too pure to be corrupted by any such base temptations…and after seeing what you did to these mortals when we first arrived, I thought my bet a safe one. _He_ obviously knows you better."

"I am Thor's good right hand," Loki's bow was mocking in the exact same way his had been to Jane and Darcy, "It is my pleasure to prove him right in all things."

"Hmm. Are you sure I can't tempt this one away from you?" Hela's eyes cut to Darcy once more, roaming down and back up, "I would not mind adding her to my collection."

"I am afraid she is too beautiful to be lost to your zombie horde. Perhaps if she cannot endure in my…" he paused, licking his lips, "service. If she dies, she can only be of use to you."

Darcy's control, tenuous as it was, snapped. She buried her face in her hands, sinking to her knees. A hysterical, strangled sob broke out behind her fingers, joined swiftly by a torrent of others. Jane ducked around Loki, trying not to feel Hela's renewed interest on her back, and knelt beside her friend, feeling how inadequate and useless her arms were to shelter her from what threatened them both, but trying nonetheless. Darcy was too far gone to return her hug, but her sobs ebbed and slowed.

"What of this one?" Jane dimly registered the toe of Hela's boot digging into her side. "What a puny thing! What can you want _her_ for?"

" _She_ is one of the few mortals who offered us any challenge at all. She has a wonderful mind. I intend to dissect it."

Jane knew—she _thought_ she knew, anyway—that he was lying. Did Hela know? Should she _not_ know?

Either way, Jane trembled as if she believed his threat _were_ real. She was no actress, but it didn't matter. There was never a time when she wasn't afraid around Loki; his mood changed with the wind. If he didn't want to crack her skull open today, he very well might do so tomorrow.

Hela laughed; it was clear what _she_ believed. "Make sure you make a public spectacle of it! Our mother will be fascinated; she still cannot believe these apes are sentient. I am glad to see your newfound affections have not softened you at all. It would be a pity if the brother who flayed the skin from these creatures' bones and tore them apart atom by atom found himself growing a heart."

"I have no heart, sister," his voice was coldly certain, "Our parents did not see fit to give one to any of us."

"Useless organ, anyway. Well, if I cannot persuade you to give me your little toy, I will be off. I only stopped on my way to help Thor win his final battle. The number of the dead are so great that once I reanimate them all, my army will outnumber the living humans that remain. It will be the final blow of this war."

She clapped Loki on his shoulder; he tried not to wince. "Rest easy. We will be home in a matter of days. Then you may enjoy your prizes as you wish."

"Better hope I do not. Then you will not have to give Thor the cost of your wager."

She laughed. "Perhaps you are right. Keep your mouth shut, and I will do the same."

Jane didn't see Hela go. All she felt was a lightening of the air after she had left, a chill cleanliness that swept through the lobby in her wake. For the first time since she'd arrived, Jane's throat wasn't tight with contamination and rot. She coughed, retching, trying to clear her lungs of the disgusting fumes she'd inhaled.

Loki sighed. "Yes. My sister has that effect on most of your kind. A byproduct of those she surrounds herself with. There is nothing to be done for it, I fear."

"I…" her lungs seized again and she gagged, bending until her forehead rested against the cool floor. For a moment, she lost all sense of where, and who, and _how_ she was.

Cold hands lifted her and pressed ice against her face and neck. There was something refreshing about the touch; Jane leaned into it, painfully grateful for the care. Darcy must be feeling better, to comfort her like this.

Her eyes fluttered open. Where she had expected to see Darcy's warm brown eyes, there was only pitiless green. The same bright, flawless, hard emerald glow as Hela's.

She recoiled, but Loki's grip was implacable.

"Control yourself," he sneered, fingers sliding away from the delicate bones of her neck, where they had been lingering over the sharp wings of her clavicles, "It is over. Pick up your friend and take her away; she reeks of sweat."

His harsh words slapped some sense into Jane, allowing her anger to overcome her fear. How dare he speak to her like that, how _dare_ he treat them as weak little girls because they'd had a normal reaction to blinding terror? A raging fire flowed into her muscles, but with that fire came strength. She was on her feet before she felt herself moving, and for a moment—just a moment—she stood above Loki, glaring down at him like a vengeful goddess herself. He rose with her, but she _knew_ what she had seen. She had seen him kneeling to her, eyes sorrowful in sight of her incandescent fury.

Then it was over, and she was beneath him again. Just like that, her certainty turned to doubt.

Had she seen it? Had she?

Her mind was too stretched to be sure of anything anymore.

"I'll take care of Darcy, don't you worry," she snapped, "But you'll have to figure out how to get her out of here without Hela noticing."

"Hela cares nothing for your friend. Or you. But she will not be leaving. She will come to Asgard with us."

Jane's gorge rose and she almost threw up on his spotless boots. At the last instant, she swallowed hard and gritted out, " _Why_? You just said she doesn't care about us. Why take Darcy?"

"She cares nothing for _you_ , I said," he shook his head, "But she cares about me. If she now thinks I plan on fucking your little friend, I must seem to do just that."

"You…" tears rose in Jane's eyes and burned hot in her nose, "You don't have to do that. You don't," the nightmare twisted again, enveloping Jane in a darker shadow than any Hela spread, a shadowy vastness so wide Jane couldn't even imagine how she would escape. Her throat ran dry. "Please. Loki, I am begging you. Whatever you want," her breath failed, "whatever you want to do to me, I'll let you do it. I promise, I won't fight. But let Darcy go."

His eyes flashed. "You think that is what I want? You think I would touch _either_ of you? I had a simple plan, Jane, and it did not involve her. _You_ asked me for this. You have no right now to wish it undone. I will not risk my plans to soothe your just guilt. Ask me for this favor once more, and I will cut your Darcy's throat here and now and turn her body over to my sister to use however she pleases."

"Jane," Darcy croaked, "don't."

Her tear-stained face was blotched red and white; her shaking hands smeared tears all over her face. Jane's fury, her fear, her guilt and shame all vanished in the face of a friend who needed her. She wiped her own tears away with two harsh swipes of her clenched fists, then bent to lever Darcy up off the floor.

"Let's go," she whispered, "I'll get you some water and clean clothes. If you want, you can take a bath. It's over. Let's go."

It was too feeble a lie to hold even a glimmer of the truth.

* * *

Hello all! Thank you for your well wishes about my interviews. I actually did get an offer for a school I'm very interested in, but they lowballed me on salary so now I'm trying to get that a bit higher. Haven't heard from them yet (which makes me feel like my guts have turned to snakes) but I'm still hoping for the best. Anyway, here's hoping you enjoy this latest twist...you didn't think that either Jane or Darcy was getting out of this yet, did you?


	5. V

**V**

* * *

Couldn't let the month end without an update. Sorry for the delay, hope you enjoy as the plot thickens!

* * *

In the end, Jane let go of Earth without a whimper. Which did not account for much, since she relinquished it without much of anything else, either. Not that she didn't have her chances to savor a last drink, take one final stroll, or see any vista she set her mind to. Loki offered all those things, his frown turning sharp and more sour every time she refused him. But Jane had been burned once by the harsh monkey's paw of his wish-granting; she didn't intend to let him destroy anything else she loved just by asking for it.

She'd already done that to Darcy. Darcy, whom she couldn't even see without Loki's permission and chaperoning, as he didn't want any of her pleasures to come untouched by the taint of his presence. After just one awkward, stilted conversation carried chiefly by his hubris, her desperation, and Darcy's sullen fear, Jane did not ask for another.

The day they left was a shadow-play unrolling before her eyes, each figure paper-flat and the whole scene touched by theatrical unreality. They walked through the blasted streets of Manhattan in a ghoulish victory parade, Jane and Darcy shoved to the forefront, adorned with all the finery Loki could conjure up to clothe them, which was more finery than Jane had ever seen in her life, even in museums. She was in his colors of green and gold, her collar a high, gilt choker studded with gems that trailed in long, glittering ropes down her cape; Darcy's pale skin looked sickly in purple and blue silks that hung off her figure like storm clouds in an approaching hurricane.

However they looked wouldn't have mattered. The crowds gathered at gunpoint to 'cheer' their conqueror's departure only saw two human women—there could be no doubt they weren't Aesir—standing alongside the warlord responsible for their unending terror and uncounted deaths. Jane had good reason, later, for blessing her insensibility. It kept her from feeling the scalding acid of their glares eating its way through her flesh.

Still, they were insignificant alongside the massed columns of Loki's troops, glaring in ceremonial armor and bristling with laser-edged pikes. And nothing but Loki's own unspoken, implicit threat could have been more menacing. He led the parade from a hovering platform, arms spread to his faithful subjects, smile wide and mad, as full of teeth as a feral dog's. Knifelike shadows from his helmet, cast by a harsh midmorning sun, slashed across the upturned faces of those beneath him, cutting their throats in lines of sunlight and shadow.

The whole procession was one final insult, one boot stamped deep onto the collective consciousness of the world, one lasting reminder that they were not free merely because Odin's children were leaving. They shed soldiers as they went at strategic intersections throughout the city, for Thor could not be everywhere—though it felt as though his lighting could be—and Earth was still a battleground of rebellion and might be for generations to come. Jane watched those soldiers go with a curious emptiness in her heart. Did it matter that they were necessary? Didn't it? She couldn't tell. History, if ever she had the opportunity to look down its unwinding scroll from the vantage point of old age, would have to be her guide.

At length, they reached Central Park, the only area large enough for the necessary Bifrost to open for the duration it needed to without laying waste to a city block. New York was pockmarked with such landing zones, perfect circles describing where hordes of support troops had poured during its final battle. But it seemed Loki didn't want to ruin the day with another pancaked skyscraper. Jane supposed they were meant to bless his restraint, his magnanimity.

Thinking of it later, she would sneer. At the time—and it gutted her to admit, left her hollow and hurting—she _was_ grateful that the city was spared one more scar.

Jane's last look at her world was a sad one. The park was still bare in spring's harsh, cold winds; what trees that survived waggled their empty branches like accusing fingers at a gray, cloudy sky. The lakes were clotted with detritus—bricks from buildings, branches from snapped trees, upended ruins of sunken paddleboats—and skimmed over with a skin of dirty ice. And the whole city had a hunched, defeated air to it; its proud buildings empty and haunted, with windows broken and rooms deserted.

She closed her eyes before the Bifrost opened and took them into space.

Thinking of it later, she wouldn't regret that at all.

Jane's feet, unsteady in the elaborate sandals Loki had provided, slammed hard onto earth—though it wasn't _earth_ and would never be _Earth_ again—shocking her eyes open and grinding her teeth together with a _clack_ that almost broke them.

Asgard.

Her first glimpse of it was a sight that seared itself so hard into her brain she knew, in that instant, she would never forget it again. Going so fast from the insensibility of shock to the complete awareness of overstimulation threatened to make her breakfast reappear all over her shoes, nor was that sensation helped in the least by her body still reassembling itself after passing through a cosmic teleporter. The only reason she didn't fall was the body of the soldier behind her, hustling her forward with an impatient grunt and a subtle—she was under Loki's protection, after all—jab from his armor-plated toe.

Darcy wasn't so lucky. Her long, diaphanous skirts tangled around her tottering feet and tripped her headlong, sending a prismatic burst of light racing out along the Bifrost from the epicenter of her body. Huddled on her knees and elbows, she retched dryly, careless of the men who stepped over and around her.

Jane, herded along by the irresistible momentum of the crowd, turned to fight her way back to Darcy's side, but Loki's hand on her wrist stopped her short. She had no idea he was that close; her skin crawled in the way it always did in his presence, as if it were trying to slough off her body.

"Bring her," he ordered the nearest lackey, nodding towards Darcy's hunched frame, still heaving. The man, disgust smearing his otherwise handsome features, hauled her up and over his shoulder like a sack of flour, grimacing as some of Darcy's spittle slid down his breastplate.

"Pathetic," a new voice, mellow and deep, but no less pointed for that, echoed through Jane's head. When she turned to its source, she found a golden giant staring her down. This would have been nothing new, except for the fact that this man's gaze pierced right through her, holding her in place like a worm on a hook.

Loki's uncanny stare was nothing to this. At least when Loki stared at her, Jane didn't feel his eyes reading the truths written on her heart. But this man…this man wasn't just looking at her; he was _seeing_ her. Every secret she'd buried, every lie she'd told, every weakness she'd ever sought to conceal. And his frowning lips and half-lidded eyes told Jane he found what he saw beneath contempt.

"Of all Odin's children," the giant went on, continuing to address Loki while looking alternately at Jane and Darcy, "I thought you the most sensible. Yet even you have been taken in by the frail beauty of these…creatures."

"Oh, Heimdall," Loki pressed his free hand over his heart, "do you mean to say I have finally managed to disappoint your finely-tuned sense of honor? I have something even greater than my triumph on Midgard to celebrate this day."

The giant's—Heimdall's—frown deepened at this flippancy. "You have always been a disappointment, Prince Loki. Just not in this regard."

"I doubt my father will see it in the same light. He always honored Thor for his conquests, even of creatures less than these," he shook Jane's arm until her whole body wobbled, "Speaking of, when does my father wish to see me? He must have sent you word."

"You and your sister are to attend him tonight. With a full account of your spoils."

"He wishes for that tonight?" Jane's ear, so long attuned to Loki's moods and whims, heard the tenor note of panic hiding in that question, "I should have thought he would be in no hurry."

"You have brought one woman back for her beauty. That is easily understood," though Heimdall's shrug as he watched Darcy being carried away by her unwilling bearer showed that _he_ , at least, most certainly did _not_ understand, "But the other you ask to keep for her mind. This is harder to comprehend."

"Perhaps for an oaf like Thor," Loki snorted, "But my father? What can he mistake in all this?"

"He mistakes nothing. But he is intrigued by the humans' resisting his children for so long. They should have surrendered in days, given their military insufficiency. If the woman you brought was, as you have told us, a member of the group responsible for making his conquest uncertain—even for a matter of days—he is eager to meet her."

Loki was silent. Jane was used to his silences, too, and knew how to parse the meaning in them. There was calculation in the swift cut of his eyes, certainly. But there was uncertainty, and even—her heart fluttered— _fear_ in the way his jaw clenched and relaxed, in a rhythm over which it seemed he had little control. He wasn't afraid for himself, of course. And suddenly, the pieces that had been at her fingertips came together, and Jane swiftly realized several horrible things.

First, that Odin, ruler of Asgard and of the known universe, wanted to meet her.

Second, that Odin, ruler of Asgard and of the known universe, wanted to meet her _that evening_.

Third, that Odin—et cetera and so on—wanted to meet her in order to find out what her role had been in the Battle of Manhattan.

Fourth, that Odin—blah di blah di blah—wanted to meet her in order to find out what her role had been in the Battle of Manhattan and, upon getting this information, would…?

And it was there Jane ran headlong into Loki's fear and her own. Because _Loki_ didn't know the end of that sentence. He had no idea what would happen next. And if he didn't know, what the hell chance did _she_ have of figuring it out fast enough to do her any good?

None, that was what.

"Hmm," Heimdall's deep hum vibrated in Jane's chest, "Perhaps she has some chance, after all."

Jane met the Guardian's fathomless, golden eyes and saw the understanding there. He knew what she was thinking. And now he knew that she knew. It was a kind of grudging respect that animated the shrug he sent her way.

"Not much," he allowed, "but some."

* * *

It feels really weird to let this chapter end without addressing the way the world has changed since I last updated. Guys, it's weird out there. It's a weird, frustrating, scary, _odd_ situation we find ourselves in, and personally I find myself fluctuating between exhaustion and concern. But that's also because I'm in Taiwan, where day-to-day life is almost unchanged, even though it's changing increasingly for everyone else. I keep finding myself thinking of the Neil Gaiman quote about making good art. So this is my contribution to it. I'm going to try to make good art, and I hope you are as well, because when everything else goes to shit, we can still make the world a little bit brighter, a tiny bit more interesting. It's not much, but it's something.

I hope you are all safe and well. If you're not, and you need someone to talk to, I hope you'll reach out. Here, or on my Tumblr.


	6. VI

**VI**

* * *

They paraded into Asgard to much a much warmer reception than the one they left on Earth. A massed crowd, waving their arms in acclaim of their returned prince and princess, was so draped in shimmering gold as to appear like a field of ripe wheat, glinting and brilliant in a hot summer sun. Hot? Summer? Jane glanced up, shocked into stillness to see _two_ stars radiating blistering heat down on them. Binary stars, or a binary system? She had no time to observe further; Loki had not dropped her arm and it cost him no strength at all to drag her after him.

Darcy, humiliation overriding illness, squirmed free of her own captor and sidled next to Jane. Her hand, cold and shaking, wound around Jane's and squeezed, hard. The pain of her grinding bones was welcome. After many days of not being able to meet Darcy in the eye over her shame of what she'd done to her, Jane wondered if this meant her friend was beginning to forgive. She returned the gesture, and the two women took their first steps onto alien soil connected, daring anyone to tear them apart.

But they were unimportant in the vast play beginning before them. Less than unimportant; they were nothing, two slight figures buried and unseen. They could live or die and it wouldn't mean a single thing to the people in front of them. They had eyes only for their soldiers, returned from glorious battle. They had love only for the children of their King, who had waged an unjust and uneven war on a world that had done nothing to harm them. Who could _never_ have done _anything_ to harm them. In their faces, Jane saw the monstrous, psychotic glee of a child who had pulled all the legs off a spider and danced over his success.

Jane didn't hate. She tried not to, and generally, she succeeded. Hatred took energy, and brain space, and she always tried to save both for what was important…namely, her work. What was the point of carrying a grudge when it was so heavy to carry?

But in that moment, she felt a black rage take her heart in a hot fist and squeeze, harder even than Darcy could do. The shock of it, the pressure, made her bare her teeth in an animal snarl. Her blood rushed fast, her heart beat loud, and she _hated_. If she'd had a fraction of Loki's power in that instant, she would have waved her hand and wiped them all away like a clot of mud from her shoe.

In a rush of bravery powered by her newfound strength, she jerked away from Loki, tearing her arm out of his grip. Like a fish on a hook, he turned towards her; she saw his eye gleam in the sun and the twisted edge of his frown. But he turned again just as swiftly, and she understood why. Argue with his mortal, struggle with her, in front of his people? It would demean him.

But Jane wasn't so reckless as to believe that she would get away with this. She knew Loki well enough to know what that frown meant.

Loki spread his arms, cape fluttering out behind him like a flag of victory. The crowd roared, chanting his name, the sound of it beating against Jane's ears until she thought she'd go mad. Those two syllables, representing everything she had lost and everyone who had taken it from her, churned the anger within her into a maelstrom that threatened to swallow her whole.

Jane and Darcy had no choice but to push through this barrier of sound, scorched by the sun, dripping sweat and dazzled by the crystal and gilding of Asgard. Prisms danced in their eyes, reflected off every corner. Their feet slipped on polished marble, slick as glass. Jewels—some Jane recognized, some in colors and cuts different from anything on Earth—glittered from every surface. It was finery on a scale far beyond anything that any human king, emperor, or dictator could have ever hoped to achieve, and every beautiful thing only made Jane's hatred curdle in her soul.

How many other worlds had Odin looted to make this possible? How many other people like her had walked this path before? How many other _trophies_ had they taken, and what had become of them?

What would become of them?

Darcy slipped again, dragging heavily on Jane's arm. Once, that would have brought Jane down as well. But now, she bore up under the weight like a pillar of stone. Her absolute, all-encompassing rage fueled her like a banked fire. She felt impenetrable. Invincible.

The palace drew ever nearer, a great gaudy pile of gold that, Jane spitefully thought, resembled nothing so much as a pipe organ. She didn't claim to know much of taste, but she could recognize bad taste when she saw it. Of course it towered above the rest of the city, grand though each and every house they passed was. Jane didn't even _know_ Odin, yet she knew that he would have it no other way. A man who enjoyed conquering ants would be sure to cow and intimidate his own people. She sneered. Odin might live in a place grander than any human dictator could manage, but that didn't make him better in the slightest.

As they passed under a great archway into the palace grounds, Jane closed her eyes and made herself a promise. It was a promise she hadn't been able to make on Earth—numb and cowed by grief and trauma—a promise she had had no belief in being able to keep, try what she might. But now she was willing to commit to it, even if that commitment ended with her head on a pike, baking under the harsh suns of Asgard.

She promised herself she would escape from this place. She would escape, and she would take Darcy with her.

And if she could, in so doing, make Odin and Loki pay for even the tiniest fraction of all the suffering they had caused to the galaxy, she would do it.

And do it with a bloody smile on her face.

()()()

As on Earth, Jane and Darcy were not to share a room. They weren't even to share a hallway.

Darcy's suite was a magnificent series of rooms placed right next to Loki's; its showpiece was a gigantic bed hung with green and gold tapestries. Jane was waiting for Loki to turn to them and smirk, perhaps with a snarky reminder of what Darcy was ostensibly there for. But he seemed to have other things on his mind. Darcy was left to her own devices to settle in as she could behind a quickly locked door, while Loki escorted Jane to her own rooms.

Hers were at some distance, far enough down the palace's many twisted corridors that Jane had to keep a strict count in order to keep track of where she was relative to Darcy. Two lefts, a right, a left, three rights, down two flights of stairs—or was it three?—across a solarium filled with vines and flowers, and up a smaller set of stairs.

"Why so far away?" Jane panted, when Loki's long strides became painful to keep up with. "Why bring me here if you're going to toss me in another dungeon?"

"What slander! I have never tossed you in a dungeon," he did not stop, but his pace slowed so Jane could catch her breath, "When have I not given you more than you—as a prisoner of war and a traitor, may I remind you—deserved?"

"I wasn't a traitor," she snarled, "Odin didn't rule my world when I fought him."

"Odin always ruled your world. Your people forgot what they owed him."

"'Owed him'?" she snorted, "What do we owe him for?"

"You owe him nothing for what he has given you," Loki shook his head, "You owe him gratitude for what he did not take away. All you mortals have has always been his."

Jane bit down on her tongue. This wasn't an argument she wanted to have—though she _did_ , she wanted to sink her teeth into it and hold down until he admitted that this situation was insane and deeply, deeply wrong—in the middle of a hallway. So she swallowed her indignation, where it merely added to the fuel of contempt and indignation and rage firing her resolve. Arguing would get her nowhere. She had to think carefully over what battles it would benefit her to fight, and let everything else go.

Loki stopped. His catlike eyes fixed on her, wary and alert. "No offended retort, Jane? It's not like you to admit the truth about your people's place in the universe. Come, tell me I cannot be serious, tell me you humans have value and sovereignty that cannot be overridden by the more powerful."

"Why should I?" she countered, swiping a hand through her scraggly, damp hair. " _I_ know what's true, but _you_ don't believe it. What's the point? Also," she took a breath, struggling to control the riot of emotions within her that wanted to manifest in a cloudburst of tears, "I'm tired, I'm sweaty, and apparently, I'm meeting your father sometime today. I'd rather spend my time getting ready for that, and not fighting with you."

He blinked, taken aback by her outburst. But his surprise was soon overridden by an abstract kind of pride. He looked at her the way a careless dog owner might regard a pet standing on its hind legs to beg for a treat. She had, Jane thought, surprised him yet again, but she couldn't tell if that boded well for her plans or not.

Tilting his head, Loki dragged out the silence _just_ long enough for Jane's sweat to turn cold and clammy. Shifting her weight, she crossed her arms in an attempt at bluster and jutted out her chin.

"So? Can we go?"

"Of course, my lady," he bowed, offering his arm, "Please."

She didn't take it. Instead, she stalked forward down the corridor, outpaced almost immediately as Loki chuckled and strode on ahead. They didn't speak again until reaching a small, plain door standing alone in a cul-de-sac at the end of a series of snaking halls. They hadn't seen another person for some minutes; this part of the palace felt forgotten, friendless, and alone.

Loki waved his hand and a series of unseen locks clicked open down the length of the door before it swung silently open. At his gesture, Jane stepped gingerly through into her newest prison.

Well, 'prison' might be a bit of an misnomer.

She would not like it. She wouldn't. She _wouldn't_. Admit it was comfortable? Fine. Find a bit of cheer in the soft sunlight that filtered through gauzy curtains? Okay. Almost squeal at the sight of a research bench with—oh, was that a _computer_?—stacks of books piled on shelves above? As long as she didn't make a sound, all well and good.

What disturbed her most was how _different_ her quarters were from everything else she'd seen in the palace thus far. These rooms weren't meant to be showy; they weren't meant to awe its inhabitant with any grand fittings or furnishings. These rooms were meant to be _lived_ in, which made Jane's stomach sink to her toes when she remembered _living_ was precisely what Loki intended her to do.

"Not even a smile?" Loki's finger lifted her chin; his thumb grazed the bow of her upper lip, "After all the trouble I had someone go through on your behalf?"

Jane stepped back, away from his sarcastic gentleness. "It's nice," she paused, swallowing her nausea, "Thank you."

"Poor thing, that cost you something to admit, didn't it?"

She fixed him with a look that was all the answer needed, equal parts exasperation and despair.

He laughed, crossing the room to throw himself onto a small, overstuffed sofa. Stretching out with a luxurious groan, already more at home than Jane was in _her own_ rooms, he vanished his helmet with a snap of his long fingers and shook out his hair so it fell rakishly over his forehead. "Well, it's done. The smallest of your trials is over. Congratulations."

Jane stood silent and still in the center of the room, watching Loki watch her. After a moment, something passed over his face and he patted the sliver of sofa left beside him.

"Come, sit. We need to talk."

Slowly, footsteps hesitant, she crossed over to a chair.

"No," he forestalled her, motioning again to his side, "Sit here. With me."

"There's not enough room," she replied.

He laughed, louder this time. "Jane, I promise, I mean no threat against your virtue. You have a far greater threat to worry about right now. All I want to do is help you."

 _All you want to do is help me,_ she thought, wildly, _You could have left me where I was! You could have killed me! You could have put me_ anywhere _in the galaxy that wasn't in sight of the man who ordered you to destroy my world!_ That _would have helped me!_

Too angry to think of another way to wriggle out of it, but too smart to refuse him any longer, Jane stomped over to the sofa and plopped down, hip rudely jabbing against Loki's knee as she refused to give up _her_ space for _his_ comfort. Crossing her arms, she hunched backwards and gritted out:

"Help me, then. Tell me about Odin."

* * *

Y'know, I was really thinking this story would be _shorter_ than my last Lokane fic, but...I'm not sure it's gonna shape up that way! I will tell you it's definitely going in a different way, but it's going to be very twisty and turny.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and I'm glad most of you seem to be doing well. Again, if you need to talk, just send me a message.

Love you, be safe!


	7. VII

**VII**

"Odin All-Father," Loki began, airy and unconcerned, "is an absolute bastard. Vicious to those who oppose him, apathetic to the great majority of those who don't, and only kind in any fashion to those he considers his own. He has no curiosity or interest in the worlds he owns; he only wants to own them. This he considers his birthright; to deny it him is to deny the will of Yggdrasil itself."

Jane flinched, looking at him askance. "This is your father you're talking about?"

Loki's smile soured, pinched thin. "In a sense. But I would be foolish to let our relationship blind me to the truth of what he is. As you would be a fool to imagine that _our_ relationship can give you any protection against him. I would far rather you never meet him; I never expected he'd ask. He has never cared to see any of Hela or Thor's trophies."

"I'm not your _trophy_ ," she snapped, not believing a word of it but objecting _pro forma_ regardless, "and we don't have a relationship."

"Oh Jane," he chuckled, patting her knee, "you have very little time left. Don't waste it objecting to the obvious."

She swallowed a scream, feeling it endlessly echoing in the pit of her stomach. "Fine. Why do you think he wants to meet me, then?"

"I would wager because I so rarely bring souvenirs back from other worlds. My appetites have always been different from my siblings'," his thumb smoothed down the inside of her knee, the heat of it searing down to her skin. Jane fought the urge to wiggle away for its pointlessness; the sofa was so small she had nowhere to go but further into him.

"Moreover, he must have been curious because of what I intend with you."

"Which is what, exactly?" she forced the words out through numb lips, "I'd like to know myself."

His thumb stilled. "Which is beside the point," he rejoined, smoothly, "As far as my father is concerned, it is to understand how you and your band of scientists and engineers managed to oppose me. Once I have discerned that, I mean to make your death an example to anyone who would, by might or mind, oppose the All-Father's will. He will understand that _._ "

"If that's what you want him to believe, why go through all the trouble to bring me to Asgard? Why not just do it on Earth, where the example would do some good?"

"Well done. You've put your finger right on the problem, and precisely what Odin himself will be wondering."

His hand squeezed, spread fingers caressing up the inside of her thigh, lighting her nerves afire. Jane tensed down to her toes, but his grip was gone in a heartbeat. Nevertheless, she had to catch her breath for a long moment before she could ask:

"What are you going to tell him, then?"

"I hadn't decided yet," he replied, as unconcerned as if Jane had posed a question about what they should have for dinner, _not_ how to keep her alive until tomorrow. "Of course he cannot know the truth of what I intend with you. Nor yet can you tell him how you actually opposed him. He would kill you before you finished speaking."

He stopped again.

Jane didn't scream, but a frustrated squeak forced its way out. "So? What shouldI _do_?"

His thumb stroked her again, in a way Jane realized he _meant_ to be soothing, but her muscles were wound so tight she thought they would snap. She clapped her hand down over his and fixed him with a glare.

"You don't know, do you? You don't know how I'm supposed to get through this."

His eyes widened, but he covered his surprise almost instantly with a smirk. "Well, Jane," he turned his hand so they pressed palm-to-palm, and drew her closer, "such forwardness. You know all you had to do was ask."

Her tongue was so dry it stuck to the roof of her mouth. She pried it free and muttered, "Now who's wasting time?"

"Do you consider _this_ a waste of time?" his breath kissed her cheek over the narrow inch of space that divided them.

Too close. He was too close, a suffocating, overwhelming threat that could breach her defenses at any moment. And what would she do if he did? What _could_ she do? Her dry throat ached so much she couldn't take a deep breath. Head reeling, caught in his gaze, she whispered, "I do if it's what gets me killed."

"Ah," he sighed, eyes flicking up from the soft skin of her neck pressed by its high collar, "true. First we must see that you live until tomorrow. Then we may...indulge in its possibilities."

* * *

The throne room was a vast space, its painted ceiling supported by massive golden pillars sculpted in heavy runic symbols and stylized images of horses, shields, and spears. Not that Jane could see many of the finer details. Hovering bowls of flame cast uncertain illumination through the space, leaving acres of smoke and shadows blooming in between them. In the low light, the gold glowed like the banked fires of hell. Every time they passed into darkness, she shuddered.

Step-by-step, Loki and Jane approached the throne, she preceding him by the length of one of his long knives pressed into her lower back. This was a detail they'd negotiated between them, but what Jane had never agreed to was the singing sting of his blade in her spine every time her footsteps faltered. A hot drop of blood oozed through the drab fabric of her dress. It itched.

They walked, each step bringing them closer to the devil himself. Odin sat on a great winged throne, in full ceremonial armor of hammered metal, a staff twice his height gripped tightly in one massive fist. His solitary eye, bright and blue, seemed to fix on them both as they walked. Jane's skin prickled, all the fine hairs standing on end. His gaze was different from the guardian's at the Bifrost, but it was no less piercing. Unlike the guardian's, however, Odin's eye did not see the truth of her; it saw only his own bias. And in his bias, she was a disgusting stain in his sight, one she knew he would be all-too-quick to wipe away.

In her life, Jane had known ridicule and dismissal. This wasn't either of those. This was disdain, but disdain for nothing she'd _done_. Odin hated her for what she _was_ , and there was some freedom in knowing she had neither earned his hatred nor could do nothing to change it.

So absorbed was she by Odin that Jane barely noticed the woman seated at his side. Clearly this was Frigga, All-Mother, but despite the title she held, it was clear that entitled her to nowhere near the amount of prestige as Odin. Her throne was a beautiful one, to rival any queen's of Earth, but it was not the enormous bench that cradled Odin's royal backside.

Frigga's eyes were blue as her husband's, but her hair had not yet gone silver with age. Perhaps her youth hadn't set her so firmly in her prejudices, but Jane thought the look in her eyes was one of more curiosity than judgement. But Jane clearly wasn't the main focus of her attention.

"Welcome home, my son," Frigga said, rising and stepping down the stairs towards them. She spread her arms, the cape of her gown fluttering behind her like a butterfly's delicate wing. "I have missed you."

"Mother," Loki bowed, sheathed his knife, then met her embrace. Jane stared, she couldn't help it. The idea of Loki as an affectionate being couldn't fit in her brain. How could anyone with a loving family rob others of theirs? How many families had been destroyed by this one? And to what end?

Odin hadn't risen. Nor did he greet his son.

"Bring her forward."

Frigga and Loki exchanged a look; then the queen stepped back to her throne and Loki gripped Jane by her arm. When he dragged her forward, her resistance was only half an act. Her feet, even with her brain commanding them, were unwilling to bring her one inch closer than she already stood.

"Kneel to your god," Loki sneered in her ear, shoving her forward. Her toe caught the hem of her dress, and, ready or not, she flopped onto her knees.

Being unable to see Odin was somehow more terrifying. Staring at her spread fingers on the stone, Jane tried to count them, to slow her breathing, to just _calm down_ , but her shoulders trembled and teeth chattered regardless.

The moments stretched.

"Why is she here?"

"She was a member of the team that gave us the most opposition, and her interrogation thus far has proved fruitful," Loki's hand gripped her hair, yanking her head up and back, so Odin could see the bruises on her throat, dipping down her collar. _Planted_ bruises, of course, mere glamor, but he didn't have to know that. "There are things we can learn from the mortals."

"Things _you_ can learn from them," Odin countered, "nothing _I_ need. Kill her and be done with it."

"My love," Frigga put in, voice mild, "you know well our son's curiosity, and how it has benefitted you in the past. When have we ever profited from limiting it? Let him take his pleasure how he will."

"This," Odin flicked his fingers at Jane, "is not so harmless as a book or piece of spellcraft. She is a traitor, and each breath she takes in my presence is an insult."

Jane jerked against Loki's hand. "I'm not a traitor! You're not—"

Loki dragged her backwards by his grip on her hair and struck her, broad-hand, across the face. Despite anticipating the blow, it hit her so hard Jane couldn't catch herself before her skull hit the floor. Brilliant pinpricks of light danced in front of her eyes, fairylike, accompanied by a distinctly un-magical rush of nausea that surged from her stomach up through her throat. She moaned, clutching her head, and lay still.

There was a roar above her that it took some seconds to recognize as laughter.

They were _laughing_ at her.

She pressed her forehead to the cool floor and prayed they wouldn't see the tears that leaked from her pinched-shut eyes. Their ridicule shouldn't hurt, it _shouldn't_. They were vile creatures, beings of advanced knowledge and technology who used their superiority to oppress anyone they deemed beneath them. What good would respect from such people be? It would mean nothing, or it would mean that she had fallen so far from humanity that she would no longer know herself.

The nausea passed as her vision cleared, though her ears still rang with cacophonous church bells. She scraped herself together, huddling on her hands and knees, not trusting her legs to support her but refusing to lie down for them anymore.

A hand—Loki's hand—settled on the crown of her head, patting her like a dog. And like a kicked dog, Jane shied away into another wave of laughter.

Loki hauled her upright. "Well, Father? Do you see what little threat she poses?"

"It is not about the threat she poses," Odin's dour mouth settled into its deep frown lines, and all mirth faded from his eye, "It is about the message she sends the other Realms. That defiance brings any sort of mercy from me and mine."

"When I have from her what I wish, I promise you can gut her yourself. Imagine what kind of message you can write on this fragile mortal flesh. I had my plans, naturally," his finger traced down the side of Jane's cheek, "But I cede my rights in this matter to you."

"There," Frigga put in, "A solution we can all live with. Now, it grows late, and I would like to be rested for the victory feast tomorrow so I may properly celebrate the labors of our children. Husband?"

She rose, holding out her hand which Odin, grumbling into his beard, reluctantly accepted.

"Take me to bed."

* * *

Jane's beaten head throbbed with every step, hot and pulsing with slow blood pooling beneath her skin. She could feel the bruise forming on her temple and cheekbone from Loki's blow, as well as the tender spot where her head had snapped off the floor. But none of her physical pain was anything compared to how paper-thin her self-control was. How fragile she felt. How her rage felt like it could burn her to ashes.

She wanted to cry, and scream, and rage. She wanted to beat her palms against something until her skin split open and wept blood. The temptation to do just that against Loki took everything she had not to indulge.

Loki said not a word to her until her door shut firmly behind them.

Jane gasped as he swung her around by her shoulders, boyish enthusiasm shining from his eyes.

"Magnificent, Jane!" he cried, "Truly magnificent! Of course, no one besides myself has dared to lie to Odin's face in many years, and of course he would never have believed a Midgardian capable of the intelligence to do it at all, but you still performed masterfully. I suppose I should have expected it from a born storyteller like you."

Jane stood where he let her down, digging her fingernails into her upper arms, holding herself together to keep from flying apart. _Pick your battles,_ she reminded herself, desperately, feeling her control slip a notch lower, _don't rise. Don't._

"What is that face? You cannot be irritated that I hit you; it is not my fault you had not the strength to stop yourself from—"

Without her knowledge or consent, Jane's open palm flew.

More from surprise than pain, Loki's head snapped to the side as she slapped him.

For a moment, they stood like that, poised against each other.

Then, snakelike, he turned towards her.

And he _smiled_.

* * *

Thank you all for your reviews! I'm going to try to get replies to all of you shortly, but please know that your continued support means everything! Let me know what you think of this latest.


	8. VIII

**VIII**

She felt her danger immediately and jerked her hand backwards, but Loki caught her wrist. As she stared, heart pounding in her throat, thunderous in her ears, he drew it closer, and closer, until he could press a kiss to her palm. She felt the sting of his tongue against her flesh and shuddered, her overwhelming hatred a liquid flame sliding through her veins. If only it could burn him, sear him so he'd never touch her again! But only she suffered from the inferno of her raging fury.

Hatred seemed to be the last thing on his mind.

"That must have hurt," he cooed, breath clammy and cloying, "Do let me soothe it for you."

"Take your hands _off me_ ," she snarled, wrestling against his hold, "Don't _fucking_ touch me. You…you put me through hell tonight, and now…what? You're trying to scare me? Why? What more do you want from me?"

"Would you like me to answer that question in all honesty?" His fingers, nimble and quick, skittered down to her forearm, tugging at her, insistent. "I think you'd enjoy the answers, if you would only allow yourself to."

"Get off," was all she could say, "You're disgusting."

He grinned, sharp and hard, before dipping his dark head to her wrist and nuzzling the skin there, teeth cold against her vulnerable tracery of veins. "I know. But you would not be the first woman to find herself in the arms of one she professed to loathe."

"Is that what you want?" she whispered, longing to shove him away but fearing he'd hold fast. For the moment, it was kinder to preserve her illusion of choice. Yes, she stood their enmeshed in him because she would _not_ give in to fear. "Is that why I'm here? There aren't willing women in Asgard, so you have to steal them from their own worlds?"

He laughed, catching her skin in a sharp nip. She flinched, but did not cry out. "Would that be easier for you, Jane? To imagine that there are not women willing to fill my bed?"

The words leaped off her tongue, nor would her good sense have called them back. If her fists couldn't hurt, perhaps her words could. "It's not imagination if it's true."

This time she _did_ gasp as he bit her. "Take care," he said, standing upright, reminding Jane of how little she was in comparison to him, how her life was so clearly a fragile reed in his hands. She could see the marks he'd left on her skin, deep-stamped indentations right down to the bone, "I have been patient with you. I have been kind. But even I have my limits. Take care you do not cross them."

His anger made him careless; his grip on her faltered and Jane could at last back away from his greedy fingers.

She ignored his protestations and sidestepped entirely his ludicrous assertion of _kindness_. This night was fast becoming too much; her head hurt, her face stung, and her wrist throbbed where he'd marked her. Over and above all those pains were her emotional ills. Soaking in terror, rage, and sorrow for hours—and days, and _weeks_ —had drained her of any notions of equilibrium, and Jane finally felt the last thread of her control snap.

She spiraled into spitting fury. "How am I supposed to avoid crossing your limits if I have no idea what they are? How am I supposed to know how to behave if I don't know what you _want_ from me! Sometimes you like me to push; others you want me to shut up and do as you tell me. Sometimes it's like you—" she dragged in a breath; it strangled in her throat, "It's like you almost _care_. And I _know_ that's a lie, because you don't and you _can't_. I never know what to think or how to feel around you, so if you want to drive me out of my mind, congratulations, because I feel it slipping."

She breathed again, and choked. Choked on the truth pouring from her heart, through her lungs, and out of her mouth. She couldn't remember the last time she'd spoken the unadulterated truth; perhaps it had been months ago, before the world ended and objectivity still had some kind of power to influence reality. Certainly it was long before this half-life of Jane's had begun, in which she waited to see how Loki would act to gauge how she ought to in return.

She breathed once more, air moving in a moan from her overtaxed, overwrought frame, and as she exhaled she was crying, crying without any hope of holding it back, of holding herself together. In an instant, she dissolved. Sinking down to her knees, Jane bent to the carpet, kneeling for Loki as she had never voluntarily knelt before, abased before him at last. But it was too late; pain of so many months' growth had throttled the last of her pride.

Jane's tears flowed thick and hot, dripping from her eyes, down her nose, and onto the soft carpet placed there explicitly for her comfort. _Comfort._ With them came all the ugliness that had calcified within her like a second skeleton around all her soft, fleshy, mortal parts. Her heart was leaking blood, her lungs venting air, her very bones were cracking, shattering along their fault lines. If she could have collapsed into pieces like a smashed porcelain figurine, she would have thanked whatever god out there for providing her that merciful annihilation.

But no one, least of all Jane, could cry forever. Once she realized she'd rather be dead than endure another second of this, her way forward cleared. At last, she could see her clearing in the woods, the place where all paths diverged, where she and Loki would both have to make a choice before either could take another step.

She raised her head, swiped at her dripping eyes and flushed cheeks with hands surprisingly steady.

"I can't do this," she said, sniffling, rubbing her eyes. "I can't—I'm done. Whatever you want from me, I can't give it to you. If you won't let me go, just kill me."

His face was blank as it studied her blotchy features and wide despairing eyes, but there was a storm in his gaze, eyes flashing under heavy, lowered brows. His fingers twitched on empty air, then sealed into stony, white-knuckled fists.

"Is that what you truly wish? To die?"

She couldn't understand the harsh, strangled note in his voice.

"No," she sighed, two tears somehow squeezing out of her raw, red eyes. She smeared them away with a resigned hand. "I want to _live_. But I can't live like this. I've tried. I thought…I thought I _could_. Could just turn off everything and try to survive. Survival isn't _living._ And I—I can't—"

Hysteria gripped her, her desire to make him understand ruining her ability to beunderstood. She kept trying, kept pushing her words out, stumbling over them, tripping over her tongue and her tears until she buried her face in her hands and sobbed aloud again.

"Enough," he snapped, then relented.

Jane gasped as his hands closed around her wrists, tugging her hands into his own. He was kneeling before her, closer than she would like, but she had no time to object before he had pulled her fully into his embrace.

When had she last been hugged? Her skin shivered with the sudden delight of his warmth, even as her stomach churned with nausea. Strange and disconcerting, how different parts of her could feel so differently about him.

Stranger still was his hand in her hair, on her back. Not greedy or grasping, but soothing. Calming.

Inch by inch, muscle by muscle, she relaxed into his hold, letting her body sag into his unquestionable strength. At last, her breathing evened and the last of her tears fell to dry on the heavy fabric of his tunic. In their absence, heavy exhaustion descended over Jane like the final curtain of a play. She had said her piece, made her grand speech. It was over. She was over.

"You require the truth."

She felt his voice rather than heard it, the rumble of it traveling from his sternum to hers. She didn't reply.

"I will give it."

Slowly, so slowly Jane could feel each of her muscles groan, she nodded.

"Tomorrow."

Her voice was a raw nerve. "Tell me now."

"Jane," he sighed, bending her backwards and sweeping her up in his arms in one fluid movement, "You are overwrought. What good will it be, my telling you now?"

Only Jane's absolute exhaustion would have allowed her to stay cradled in his grip without a fight. But wary as she was of giving him an inch for fear of the mile he would most certainly extract from her later, all she could manage was a frown.

As he laid her on the bed, tucking fresh sheets around her, she said, "First thing tomorrow."

He chuckled lightly, kissing her forehead, there and gone before she could blink. "Jane Foster, I swear on my mother's life that if you do not have all the information you desire before breakfast, you will have my permission to fling yourself out the window to the death you profess to desire."

She blinked. "You're an asshole. I hope you know that."

"It has been said," he replied, fingers smoothing the tear-tracks on her face. Some unspoken magic cooled her puffy skin and dried its sticky veil. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he studied her narrow, suspicious eyes and sighed. "It was never my intention to hurt you like this."

"Wasn't it?" Jane was stunned by the utter naiveté. Could he _possibly_ not have thought…?

It didn't matter. Loki was right about at least one thing; it would do her no good to drag all this out just then, nor would she be able to bear it if he lied to her once more. Tomorrow, perhaps, after she'd had a few hours to dream herself away from all this, she could handle it. Tonight, all she wanted to do was sleep.

Without another word, she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, trying her best to blot out the hostile world, her battered body, and Loki, still perched by her side, fingers hovering as though waiting for her permission to take her hand.

* * *

Hello all! This chapter was initially going to include two scenes, but the drama kind of got out of control. Also, the 'm' key on my keyboard is broken, which means I need to paste one in wherever I need one, and that has both slowed my pace and made the writing process a little frustrating. Anyone know how to fix this problem?

Anyway, I hope you like this chapter and that the drama walks the line between too much and not enough. I did consider making it a lot darker *coughhatesexcough* and I'm not saying the story won't go that way eventually, but it didn't feel right just yet. Let me know what you think.

Stay safe, love y'all!


	9. IX

**IX**

Jane woke a scant few hours later to the clear blue light of pre-dawn, bathing her face in blessed coolness, more like water than light. Still, even that stung her tired eyes as they cracked open, lashes stuck together with the gummy aftermath of her tears. At first, she felt entirely bewildered, lost as to what day or what planet she was on, unsure even of which direction was up or how to put her feet on the ground. As if she'd been tossed off a boat into a turbulent open ocean, she struggled for the surface and, in a panic, only drove herself deeper.

At last, she managed to throw back the blankets tangled around her, kicked herself free and sat up, reeling and dizzy and nauseous. Pain rolled through her body like a thunderclap; her body ached everywhere, a deep burning in each one of her muscles as if she had been kneaded like a tough lump of bread dough. Her muscles were so tired that she felt as if they were slipping out of alignment with her bones; for a moment, she didn't even want to try standing for fear her body would just ignore her commands and she'd tumble to the floor.

But stood she did, wobbling on her feet, clutching at the bedpost for support before finally limping herself to the window. Neither of the suns—she _had_ seen two the previous day, hadn't she?—was yet in the sky, but the air was full of their potential. Night's chill was already fading along with the scattering of stars above; heat touched her skin, warming her down to her chilled heart. Jane searched the unfamiliar constellations overhead, so faint in the pale blue ocean they swam, and remembered desert mornings at her first lab in New Mexico, solitary and determined, just her and her tools to make sense of an unfathomable universe.

Who would have known that she would have found herself so far adrift in that very universe one day? Or that it had such horrors to hold? She had looked at the sky and seen wonder, hope, humanity's advancement and future written in the vast expanses between stars, spelled out in possibilities beyond imagination.

Well. No longer so far beyond imagination, were they?

She put her back to the sky, facing her shadowed room, where at least the dangers were somewhat quantifiable. As her prison for the foreseeable future, she determined to spend the time waiting for Loki in getting to know her cage.

Though 'cage' would not be the most accurate word for it, despite its firmly locked doors. For unlike Jane's first prison on Earth, and even her second suite in the deserted hotel room in New York, Jane suspected that these rooms had been arranged specifically with her in mind.

The sitting room, furnished in blue and gray, had several small sofas and overstuffed chairs, blankets thrown over their backs, just begging her to sit and read in their cozy embrace. Nor would she lack for material; there were two shelves overflowing with books and scrolls, besides the research bench in the corner and its softly glowing panels. This she determined to leave for last, knowing it would take her the longest to go through.

Three other rooms opened from this central locus; one back into the bedroom, one into the bathroom, and a third into a vast, walk-in closet.

This closet confused Jane the most. Of course she would need to sleep, and any captor might have an afterthought about what she would need to keep from going crazy through the day, but why all these clothes? Where would she wear these silk gowns, these velvet cloaks, these fur collars? What would a prisoner need with so much opulence? Were these all just for Loki's benefit, to dress her like a doll and imagine that she appreciated his largesse? That would explain the predominance of his colors of green and gold.

That hypothesis did for a start, but subsequent exploration threw a wrinkle or two in its way. The closet, though stuffed with clothes whose implications she flinched away from, also held loose, flowing pants and tunic tops, warm socks and slippers, all in the blues and warm earth tones _she_ preferred. What little Jane had seen of Aesir fashion told her that such styles were practically unheard of. Who could picture Odin in comfy casuals?

No. They were all meant for her, to put her at ease. None of those clothes were form-fitting or tantalizing at all, unless Loki had a very specific fetish for oversized loungewear. And though Jane hated to admit it, when she shed the sweat- and tear-streaked dress of the previous night and slid into a long blue tunic and soft black leggings, she _did_ feel better. In this place where there should have been nothing of herself, she had been seen and cared for, her needs anticipated.

She had accused Loki the previous evening of _acting_ as if he cared, and told him she knew he couldn't. And yet…and yet…

She scowled. "Get it together, Jane," she stomped out of the closet and back to the living room, "Just because he tossed some athleisure into your closet doesn't mean he's given you any control over anything that matters. Don't take his crumbs."

It was a good reminder. It kept her heart hard and cold, a piece of flint from which Loki would never succeed in striking a spark.

All these distractions were just wasting valuable time. The only thing that mattered to Jane was information, gathering as much of it as she could before Loki fed her more lies. So she abandoned her examination and instead plopped down in front of the computer console, a touch of her hand making the screen glow a sickly green.

The interface was different, working on a logic clearly not structured for human priorities. But Jane was nothing if not adept at working with technologies not originally built for her, so she quickly bypassed the information provided on Aesir social norms and palace blueprints, and found her way to the file directory.

She scrolled through the file names, brow furrowing as she discerned a clear theme. Stories. They were stories. Choosing a few titles at random, Jane confirmed that most of what Loki had given her were fictional tales and legends endemic to Asgard and its conquered realms. After the stories from Asgard came a series of Jotunheim epic novels, then an endless list of Vanir poetry.

Her finger faltered. Was that it? Was that the great mystery, the answer for why she'd been wrenched off her planet and all her roots ripped away? Because Loki wanted her to tell him more _stories_?

No. No, it couldn't be. Jane kept scrolling, desperate for an explanation that _wasn't_ so horribly childish, hysteria rising like a noxious miasma in her lungs. Her breathing began to come faster and harder, especially as she began to pass a huge selection of Earthbound sci-fi and fantasy. God, he'd not only given her every title she'd ever mentioned to him, but also included a huge number of titles she'd never even had the chance to read or watch!

She swallowed and her throat burned. No, there was another explanation. She knew it was there, she just had to find it.

But panic was so hard to fight that Jane was actually two screens past a suspicious file before her brain actually processed it and she could go back.

Stuck in the middle of the 'Js', right between Jemison and Jia, was a lone entry titled 'JFoster'.

She clicked the folder open, stomach turning a slow flip-flop as it spilled out a host of familiar files and programs, now distorted into a new nightmarish reality when spelled out in luminous green lettering. There was her homebrewed program for tracking atmospheric disturbances; there was her spreadsheet listing all suspicious 'storms' she'd tracked that were just stealthy Bifrost activations, which dropped Aesir troops onto the planet for weeks before their initial attack. Beyond these workaday files were also…had he copied her iTunes library? All her pirated movies and TV shows?

Her hope faded. This was just a copy of her various hard drives, probably something swept up when Loki's soldiers had raided the SHIELD lab at last and either taken or executed all of her team. Even though she was glad to have her research back—her portal data especially would be useful, if she could ever hope to gather the machinery needed to generate one again—it gave her no revelation into Loki's mind.

Still, she opened one of the files anyway, smiling to read the slow progression of her first thoughts on how to generate a portal using arc reactor technology and combining it with the neutrino readings taken off the Bifrost manifestations. Her smile faltered as she read comments from other scientists, their signatures stamped so heavily on what they'd created together. All those people—Erik, Fitz, Burton, Torres—they were probably all dead now. They'd been so hopeful, crafting this project together, working so desperately, all so afraid.

But in the end, none of it had mattered. They'd put up a fight—saved their pride—but had managed to save nothing else.

Jane bowed her head and even though she wasn't religious, gave a quiet prayer for their souls. If there was a caring god in the universe to counter its many, many demons, she hoped it would take pity on all her friends who had died so violently and far too soon.

She was on the verge of swiping back into the main file directory when something caught her eye. What was that link? She didn't remember putting any link into that paragraph there, and it didn't have a signature from another scientist either.

Now that her eyes were keyed into searching for other hyperlinks, she began to see them everywhere, scattered like breadcrumbs throughout her research. Choosing one, Jane found herself in a document she didn't recognize at all; the language wasn't even…it _was_ English, but it was poetic, esoteric English that raised more questions than it answered. What was a 'silent force that threaded time's needle'? What did that even _mean_?

The more links she followed, the more confused she became. A link inserted into a paragraph on power flow led to a diagram of a generator Jane was certain had never been manufactured in any country on Earth. She found notes on alternative power sources to boost output, guidance systems that could be adapted to ensure the portal opened in a desired location, and all manner of other refinements that would have given her team an incalculable advantage in perfecting their technology.

None of it was a combined whole, there were still many gaps in the research, even with all these additional notes, but Jane's mind was already churning busily. With this information, she could probably not only reproduce the localized portal technology they'd used in the Battle of Manhattan, but probably also engineer something—with enough time and equipment—that could get her and Darcy back to Earth.

So why was it _here_? And who had put it there?

The simplest answer for the second question was the most obvious. Unless she had an unknown benefactor with a deep knowledge of quantum physics and astral phenomena, _Loki_ had doctored her files, adding what he thought would be useful. He was the only one with the opportunity to do any of this that she knew of.

The why, though, was still unanswered. Why? Why give her what she would need to escape him, in theory if never in practice? Was it all just to tantalize her with what would never be?

But there her theory fell apart. The information _wasn't_ complete, and Loki, not knowing Jane's capabilities, might have no reason to expect she would be able to fill in the gaps. Hell, even if _she_ thought she could, science never came with any guarantees. Was he only hoping that she could? And if so…

 _Why?_

* * *

When her door unlocked and Loki stepped through the door—trailed by two attendants who deposited a steaming breakfast tray, as promised—Jane was ready. Perched in an armchair, arms crossed—really holding herself together so she wouldn't shake—Jane stared him down with steady eyes even though her brain and body were a riot of disarray. Still, the appearance of her composure seemed to surprise him, and after his surprise came his irritation.

"Leave us," was his brusque order to the women arranging the tray on a low table. They paused, halfway through arranging the plate settings, and scuttled out the door after dipping a hasty curtsey to their prince. Jane they ignored entirely, not even with a furtive glance. The interest Loki's family seemed to take in her presence did not seem to have filtered down to the average Aesir yet. Good.

There was silence then, silence that Jane did not break. Her jaw ached with the effort of holding everything in, but she wanted _him_ off-balance for once.

"Good morning," he took in her new outfit and the disarray of the rooms she'd touched, "It seems you've been waiting for me." He smiled, full of teeth, "Had I known, I would never have delayed coming to you this morning."

"I know what you want," she blurted, the words popping like a cork, "I know."

His smile didn't waver; if anything, it grew. Without a trace of unease on his face, he plucked a grape from the breakfast tray and sat across from her, slinging one leg over the other and resting his arms against the back of his chair. In the face of his perfect calm, Jane knotted herself even tighter, digging her nails in.

Popping the grape into his mouth, he chewed insolently and swallowed. "Do tell."

Taking her courage in both hands, Jane leaned forward.

"You brought me here to help you overthrow your father. You want to depose Odin."

* * *

Dun, dun, _duuuun_! What do you think? Is Jane right? Let me know what you think in the comments (that was very Youtuber-y, but whatever).

Anyway, thank you so much for your reviews on the last chapter; I'm glad that for most of you, the balance struck between Loki and Jane was tense without being squicky. Some of you have been asking for longer chapters...trust me, I'd give 'em to you if I could, but believe me, you either get one shorter chapter every week, or one long chapter every other month. It's somehow psychologically easier to write 2,000 words than 5,000.

Stay safe and healthy, and let me know what you think!


	10. X

**X**

* * *

Just a quick note: this chapter carries a trigger warning for discussions of suicide. If this will disturb you, please do not read any further.

* * *

A beat passed between them, pregnant with possibilities. Then, Loki threw his head back, boyish and abandoned, and laughed. He laughed as he had often laughed at her before, high and light, full of superior joy at her posturing, secure and in control of their dynamic, confident in his utter disdain. He laughed at her as she might have laughed at a dog attempting to carry a stick far too large for it, or at a cat trying to squash its massive body into a tiny box.

However little she liked being treated like his slightly idiotic pet, Jane had expected this; she weathered his carefree ridicule, her sole sign of irritation a tightening of her jaw. If her nails actually bruised the soft skin of her upper arms when the dug in hard, at least that was disguised underneath her tunic and he need never know. She gritted her teeth and waited for him to finish, dizzied by the lurching, panicked beat of her heart.

After a long minute, he did. "Oh, little thing," he brushed an illusory tear from the corner of his eye, "It does thrill me when you pretend to knowledge you could never hope to possess. Do you know what would happen to Yggdrasil if Odin no longer held sway? No," he shook his head fondly, smiling, "Of course you don't. Even if such a thing __were__ possible, why should I depose my own father? What could I hope to gain from that?"

"You're right," Jane began, "I __don't__ know what would happen. And I don't care. And I don't think __you__ care either. You hate Odin, don't you?"

He acceded easily, spreading his hands with a shrug. "If I do, that hardly translates to wanting him out of power, especially when I am not his firstborn. Hela would take the throne, and Thor after her, before it could ever be mine. Besides, doesn't every child want their parents dead?"

Her stomach churned; he seemed so __earnest__. "I didn't," she murmured. The day the names George and Helen Foster had shown up on a list of casualties—before such lists became too long and grim to print—was a black spot in her mind, a patch of rot she _had_ to ignore so it wouldn't eat her from the inside out. Like many on Earth in the sunset days of the war, she had blocked out all memories of the past and all acknowledgment of her great sorrow, fearing that to revisit them would be to fall down a labyrinthine rabbit-hole she'd never climb out of alive.

At least they had been together at the end. Dying together, as she knew to her grief, was better than living alone.

"Then your father was better to you than mine ever was," his humor soured as his smile twisted sharply, bitter at the corners, "Although that would be no difficult feat to achieve. A Frost Giant would have been a more suitable parent, and warmer, too."

"Then it wouldn't matter that you wouldn't inherit, would it? You'd want him gone because it would hurt him, punish him for what he's done to you."

Still chuckling at his own joke, Loki shook her comment off and sat forward, hands resting lightly on his knees. His vitriol faded to something wistful, open and honest. "No, Jane. We must all bear the scars our parents inflict upon us without resorting to bloodshed. That alone cannot have led you to this very entertaining conclusion."

"It didn't," she cut her eyes towards the research bench, "I found the information you left for me. All those hints...you want me to recreate my portal tech. Having your own Bifrosts, wherever and whenever you want them…what could that be for but an invasion force? Especially since Odin only has one. You could outflank him easily."

His eyes widened. "Perhaps I __have__ underestimated you all this time. For such a tame woman, you seem to have given the possibility of intergalactic war a great deal of consideration. Are you angling for a new job as my tactical advisor?"

"So you don't deny it?"

"Deny what?"

"All the data you linked into my files."

He threw his hands up, snorting like a wounded buffalo. "I can never win, can I? Play the jailer, and you fling accusations of cruelty at me. Play the considerate host who provides you with data I believe you may find intriguing, and I have an ulterior motive. Some day you must limit the expectations you place upon me, or I will run myself ragged trying to live up to them."

"If __that's__ all it was," Jane struck back, leaning forward herself, "you would have just left it in a clearly-marked file for me to find. But you didn't want me to figure things out this fast, did you? That's why you hid it. After all, why would I voluntarily go back into my own research, when it would just remind me of—" she cut herself off, throat working around a sudden hard lump of tears. The rot within her pounded and pulsed, soft and sweet and sickening.

He finished her thought for her. "Of your past? Did you not perhaps think that I didn't wish to distress you until you were ready to revisit it? That perhaps I know you well enough to understand that thinking of your old research would be too painful for the moment?"

She looked away, blinking furiously. His voice was too soft, too solicitous, and he was too good of a liar for her __not__ to wish his feigned sincerity were real, to hope that there was some softness in him for her. But she knew what he was doing, what he wanted to achieve with this act.

"You're trying to distract me," she fixed him with as straight a stare as she could manage, willing her heartache away, "I know what I know."

"Jane," he reached out, touched her knee, "I believe that you __think__ you know. You want to believe there's more to what's happened to you than this, that your life has more value to me than mere entertainment. You want there to be some grand plan, some purpose to your suffering. But what did I say to you, when I first told you I meant to take you from Midgard?"

"You said," she swallowed, shifting her leg away from his hand; it dropped into the space between them, "you thought I had more to give. You wanted me to tell you more stories."

He nodded. "If you looked through your files, you would have seen other materials there, surely? What else did you find?"

It tore her to admit. "Stories."

He spread his hands in a mute __there you go__ gesture and sat back. Small mercy, but he didn't gloat, silently or aloud. He just waited, studying her face, as realization dawned and all Jane's suspicions tumbled in on themselves like a house of cards.

"That's all you want?" her lips were numb; it was hard to force them to shape the words. "That's __really__ all you want?"

"Hmm. I thought I made my other…desires known?"

Bile surged up her throat, bitter and burning. Slowly, holding herself otherwise so tense and tight she could barely feel her heart pounding, she nodded.

Loki saw her fear. "I will not force you, Jane," he said, though whether he intended to put her at ease or on edge by this spoken-unspoken threat was impossible to tell. "What happened between us last night was...I have no wish to put either of us through that again. Whatever you believe of me, you are not as other mortals. There is something in you I would understand."

She took an unsteady breath. "Before you kill me? Or turn me over to your father so __he__ can do it?"

"Odin will forget you," he shrugged, "He forgets much of what is not in his sight."

"So I'll just…be here? In these rooms. Until I die, or until you get what you want?"

"Is that so horrible a fate? Consider your fellow humans, and the pointless, painful manner in which so many of them died. Here I provide you a life of ease and comfort; you can study what you wish, upon such subjects you had never before even dreamed existed. All I ask in return is conversation. How many of your compatriots would happily accept such a future?"

She wouldn't cry, she _wouldn't_ , even as she felt her world narrowing unbearably about her, the walls tightening imperceptibly until she would be crushed between them, with nothing to salvage her sanity but his even, reasonable voice singing in her ears. How long would it take for that voice to become a soothing, welcome presence? How long could she sustain her hate, keep him at arm's length, when otherwise all she would have to live on would be her broken, wasted heart?

"You _stole_ me," she whispered, almost breathless, "You stole my whole world from me, everything and everyone that I cared about. How...what..." she almost laughed, it was all so absurd, "What do you think you could give me that could _ever_ make up for that?"

He regarded her a distant kind of pity, face blank and tone bland. "Your world would have been stolen regardless, nor was it I who made the decision to take it from you. What have I given you? I have given you your life. Would you throw it away now, to benefit nothing and no one?"

"You saved my life so I could _amuse_ you," she snarled, "You're a petty child."

Her barb landed harmlessly, glancing off his flawless skin. "Perhaps. It has been said. But never mind that. What matters is that you have a very limited capacity to change what's _happened_ to you. From here, you have a choice. Die, and be done with it, or live, and find meaning where you can. You mortals never had much hope of ascending beyond daily survival; I fail to see how what I offer you is worse than the grind of your mean little former life."

Jane crossed her arms and buried her face into the soft fabric of her tunic, letting it absorb her sweat and tears. Once she was certain her eyes were too dry to betray her, she lifted her head, trying for a wry shrug.

"Would you let me die, if that's what I wanted? Would you really let me die?"

An emotion—anger, irritation, frustration?—flickered behind his eyes and turned his face to granite. Jane thought she knew its source. He couldn't be with her all the time, and—how many times had he said it himself?—humans were so fragile. She had never really considered suicide before, not even when everything was crashing down around them and Aesir shock troops were beating down her doors, but even she knew a blanket could become a noose and a shard of mirror could open her veins wide. If she wanted, she could thwart Loki's plans for her, and it wouldn't even be that difficult.

She could take control of her life, even if only to end it. She _could_ escape; how he must hate her for reminding him!

"You are stronger than this, Jane," his voice was a warning, "I had not wanted to do this, but let me remind you that it is not only your life I hold sway over. Do you think your friend would be able to survive her disappointment if you died?"

"Leave her out of this."

"I would have had no objection if you'd done so from the start."

She swallowed. "You bastard. But I knew it. I _knew_ it. All this talk about wanting the best for me, about _saving_ me. It's not about me at all, you liar. It's about _you_ , and what _you want_ , and to _hell_ with anyone who gets in the way!"

His smile sickened her; it was wide and unrepentant, full of teeth that gleamed in the brightening morning light. For a second, the stark outline of this smile, framed by his harsh cheekbones, became a grinning skull.

"Of course, Jane. Of course."

* * *

Phew! Sorry for the delay, I got _really_ stuck in the middle of this chapter, and was also dealing with some personal and job problems around the same time. Kind of threw me into a tailspin for a week or two (or three, it's been not the best month), but I'm getting out of it now, which is nice. Things are...I don't want to say 'solved' because the world is very uncertain right now, but 'solved-ish', perhaps.

Anyway, please leave me a comment to brighten my day if you are so inclined! I know this chapter's pretty dark, but Jane's tough, and things are going to get better.


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